


Boys and Girls

by dreamsofspike



Series: Boys and Girls [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 63,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9510806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: Spike is in a very twisted, abusive relationship with Buffy, and doesn't know how to get out of it. Tara knows something's wrong, but isn't sure what she can do about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was the very first fanfic I ever wrote, a good 10-11 years ago, and I'm in the process of making sure all my fics are on AO3 so they don't get lost... even if they aren't that good :P 
> 
> There are parts of this fic that make me cringe now, because I do feel like I've become a better writer since I wrote this, over the years... but I still want to get them up here, so I do hope you enjoy this, and not JUST in a "this is hilariously bad" kind of way. :P lol

He had no idea how this had happened...again. No matter what he did, it seemed to make no difference; somehow they always ended up back here.  
  
"Buffy," he gasped, although he didn’t need the breath. "Please calm down." He spoke softly, closing his eyes against the slowly receding pain in his back from where she had just slammed him into the wall. He knew from experience that the chances of her actually calming down at this point were fairly non-existent, but he had to try. Had to, before she let herself get completely out of control.  
  
"Calm down? Calm down?" she seethed, her hand hard on his shoulder, pinning him to the wall. She stood in front of him, very close, in a way that was occasionally meant to be seductive, but in this case, he knew, was meant to intimidate him. Either way, unnervingly close. Her voice lower now, but still cold as ice, she continued, "You just compared me to your insane, freakish undead lover–and said she was better than me!" The very words seemed to incense her again. She drew back her fist as if to punch him in the stomach, and he flinched; he had a rib that was still healing from their last such conversation.   
  
Buffy suddenly seemed to remember as well, lowering her fist, as something like guilt flashed across her face for just an instant -- followed just as suddenly by something that was very clearly anger and resentment at being made to feel guilty. Still, when she raised her hand again, she opted to punch him in the face instead.  
  
At least it wasn’t the ribs, he thought with relief, and then shame at the utter patheticness of such a thought. He used to wonder why he let her do it; he was nearly as strong as she was, and had held his own in many fights against her, even if he hadn’t ever exactly won. In the beginning, that first time, the idea had been to let her do it; let her work out her frustrations on him; he had thought he could take it. And even when her anger had proved to be more violent than he had expected, and she had left him in the alley, not caring whether he lived or died, stepping over him like nothing more than a piece of garbage in her way, he had crawled back to his crypt with the satisfaction of feeling like he had helped her in some way. He had seen her leave the police station, so he knew that she had somehow come to see reason, and she had let out at least a little of her pent up aggression. Although the encounter had left him physically and emotionally broken, it had seemed like a small sacrifice at the time.  
  
But that first time had proved to be only the beginning. After that night, he sensed a change in her, that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He was troubled to find that she seemed even more depressed and indifferent than ever, and much more easily angered. The second time she had beaten him, he had not yet recovered from the first time, and would not have been able to stop her if he had tried. At this point, he could barely remember a time when he had not been nursing some wound from one of her beatings. By the time his rib healed, he was certain that she would have given him some other injury that would prevent him from being able to defend himself–not that he would have, anyway. He still would not admit it to himself, but at this point fighting back was no longer an option, either physically or emotionally.  
  
As the pain from the blow to his head faded, he realized what she had said. "No!" he insisted. "I never said that, Buffy! I never said she was better than you! She wasn’t! I only said that she’s the only person I’ve ever been with that was freakier than you!" Even as he said it out loud again, he cringed inwardly, suddenly aware, as he had not been when he first said it, of the many ways that Buffy could have taken that statement, none of them leading anywhere good.  
  
Seething, white-hot anger in her eyes, she leaned in even closer, a cruel smile coming across her lips. And behind it, there was a certain frantic desperation in her eyes he had come to recognize.  
  
Uh-oh.  
  
He shrank back against the wall as far as he could, which was very little as his back was already to it. Still pinning him with one hand, Buffy trailed her other hand lightly across his stomach as she spoke softly, "So if you meant freaky as in hot, sexy freaky–then she’s better than me..." Her hand stopped at the base of his ribcage, right below his mending rib. She met his eyes with a meaningful smile that was sickeningly familiar. It had taken him a little while to place that look, the first few times he had seen it on her face. Where had he seen it before?  
  
The fourth time, he remembered. Angelus.  
  
Buffy or Angelus, the effect of the look was much the same. He shook his head slightly, whispering, "No. Please, Buffy, no." He hated when she got like this, because of the reaction it brought out of him. Even as he fought back a wave of shame at his cowardice, pleading like the childe he had once been, he glanced with panicked eyes toward the door, knowing even as he did that he could never make it past her and outside.  
  
"Shhh," she whispered back, releasing his shoulder to place her fingers over his lips. "I’m not finished." Pressing harder against his wounded abdomen, eliciting a moan of pain from his lips, she continued, "or if you meant freaky as in deranged, psycho freaky–then I’m almost as bad as her." Savagely she suddenly dug her fingers into his flesh, gripping the base of his ribcage with brutal strength, and he fought back a scream of agony, her fingers still over his lips a reminder that she wanted his silence, and failing to give it to her could only make things worse.   
  
*Yes, Love. Yes, Sire. I'll stand here and take it and not make a sound if you tell me to.*  
  
"Which is it, Baby?" she asked in a merciless tone, still smiling grimly – but her voice and hands were trembling, and she appeared almost on the verge of tears.  
  
He knew which one was the truth–in the psycho-freaky department, Buffy was giving Dru a run for her money at the moment; but that had not been what he had meant. What had he meant? Certainly neither of the options she had given him. He tried to compliment her and ended up in this situation. Any ideas of the correct answer fled before the power of the agony her hand was still inflicting on him.  
  
"Please!" he gasped when her fingers left his lips to indicate that he was now allowed to speak. "Oh, God, Buffy, please!" He fought back tears of pain as he whispered, "I didn’t mean it like that, not at all! Buffy, you’re the best I’ve ever had! Dru doesn’t compare–in any way!" His voice became a sob as he finished, "Please! Please stop!"  
  
Seemingly satisfied, Buffy finally released him, declaring triumphantly in a voice that was oddly tearful, "I’m the best you’ll ever have! You ought to consider yourself lucky!"  
  
He bit back the retort that came to his lips; he felt anything but lucky at the moment. Yet he knew that when it came right down to it, he would never leave her. No matter what she did to him, he still loved her desperately. Now, looking intently into her eyes, he could see a fear, a vulnerability there, behind the fury, that made him want to hold her. He sensed that the pain she caused him so often was no more than a reflection of her own. Taking a deep breath to steady and strengthen him, he reached tentatively to touch her. His hands gently touched her arms, and he almost flinched, half-expecting another blow. But she did not hit him again, and she did not pull away.  
  
"I know," he breathed out his relief as he pulled her into his arms, still not with surety, but with more confidence than a moment before. "I am so lucky," he whispered into her hair. "I can’t believe you’d actually want me! I’m the luckiest bloke alive, love!" He felt her relax in his embrace, leaning against him, and giving way to a torrent of tears.  
  
"I–I’m not–you don’t–oh God, I’m so messed up!" Buffy whispered against his bare chest, and he could feel the searing heat of her breath, her tears against his cool flesh. They replayed this scene frequently. She would freak out, take out her fears and frustrations on him, and then break down, wordlessly demanding that he comfort her. And, her hopelessly devoted slave as he was, he could not deny her. He would hold her and comfort her as long as she allowed him to, until he would invariably say the wrong thing, and find himself suddenly alone in his crypt, often after yet another blow.  
  
"Shhh, love," he whispered in her ear, gently stroking her hair. "You’re not messed up. You’re having a perfectly normal reaction to what you’ve been through." The problem was, no one on earth had ever been through what she had been through, so he had no way of knowing if his words were actually true. But normal or not, her reaction was becoming more and more destructive, to those around her, but also to herself. There had to be something that could be done to help her; and he determined right then to find out what it was.  
  
"It’s ok, love," he continued softly, his deep, hypnotic voice soothing her; he could feel and hear her heartbeat slowing back to a normal pace. "I’ve got you. It’s ok. i'm here for you." Then, without thinking, he let it slip out, "I love you."  
  
Immediately she tore herself from his arms, shoving him backward away from her. He let out a soft groan of pain as he staggered back, holding his arm across his bruised ribcage. Buffy stood there for a moment, a stricken expression on her face. Then she fled.  
  
He stood there for a moment watching the spot where she had been. The pain and confusion in her eyes was more painful to him than anything she had done to him. He had to find a way to help her come back from whatever agonizing place she had found herself stuck upon her return to life. But he could not do it alone, and there was only one other person who had both the knowledge to help and his trust.  
  
  
  
Tara was bored. Like, clean your room, balance your checkbook, anything-is-better-than-nothing-to-do kind of bored. That was why she was helping Anya in the Magic Box. But at the moment, even that was not easing the boredom; she had finished reorganizing the books and was standing by the cash register, again with nothing to do. Anya approached her with a feather duster in her hand and held it out to her with a bright smile, obviously uncomfortable with the unexpected help. "Dust," she said expectantly. "Dusting is something to do. Closer to the books. Farther from the money." She nodded.  
  
Tara rolled her eyes, but she smiled. Anya really did try so hard, and the fact that she could not be subtle if she tried, that her every thought and feeling showed itself so easily, was actually kind of refreshing, after all the secrets and deceptions Tara had been dealing with lately in the form of the one she loved. But she tried not to think about that lately; it was easier on all concerned that way.  
  
The bell above the door jangled, and Tara looked up to see Spike entering the store. His customary swagger was gone, but then, it had been for some time. His head was down, as it usually was lately. Tara frowned and turned her attention to the shelves. The change in Spike lately was troubling to her, especially as it coincided exactly with the conversation she had had with Buffy in which she had informed her that she was normal. It seemed that the information had not had the effect Tara would have hoped, for Buffy was more depressive and withdrawn than ever.  
  
Even more troubling was the condition he had been in the day after the conversation. Tara could not make herself believe that the brutal beating he had obviously received the same night Buffy found out she was as human as ever was a coincidence. And from that point on, he never seemed to recover. Every time she saw him, he was more battered and bruised than the last time. He always had some excuse about getting into a bar fight at Willie's, or an incident while patrolling, but Tara knew that she had never seen him in such terrible shape from things like that before. She only knew of one person who had both the physical strength and emotional instability to be hurting him so badly on such a regular basis.  
  
"Eh, Glinda. I’m needin’ to speak with you, love." When she turned to look at him, Tara gasped in shock and dismay. There was a large, fresh purple bruise covering most of the right side of his face. He saw her expression and looked down again, uncomfortable. "Right, then. Ah, maybe another time then, love." And he turned to walk away.  
  
Suddenly determined, Tara reached out and took his arm, her determination only strengthened when he flinched. This was not the confident, aggressive Spike she knew; something had to be done, and soon. She had only been trying to find the right time and place to bring it up. Now, he had sought her out, probably for something completely different, but still he had come to her, and the Magic Box was all but deserted. The time and place seemed appropriate.  
  
He looked quickly up at her, his brilliant blue eyes wide with surprise, and not a little fear. "What is it?" he asked softly, not quite meeting her eyes.  
  
"No, Spike. Let’s talk now," she smiled gently, but her grip on his arm remained firm. "Privately," she added, nodding toward the training room door. She was slightly surprised when he didn’t try to pull away or even protest as she led him to the training room and closed the door.  
  
"What’s this, then?" he asked quietly, pulling away from her hand at last, and eyeing her warily. She could not do nearly as much damage as Buffy, but as she was fully and completely human, whatever damage she could do, he was powerless to stop. "What sort of private chat did you have in mind here, love?"   
  
His hands were held out in front of him in a semi-defensive gesture. Tara generally came off as a lot gentler than the other Scoobies; still, the group in general had never been above strong-arming him if they thought he might have some information they wanted, or be able to help them in some way in which he was unwilling to do. Since he was incapable of defending himself against them, being dragged into a room away from everyone else for a private "conversation" was almost never a good thing.  
  
"It’s all right," Tara said softly, approaching him, taking his hands in hers and looking him in the eye. "I’m not gonna hurt you, Spike."  
  
The sympathy in her soft gray eyes was humiliating to him. He covered it with a sneer. "Wasn't really wondering about that, Love. Just curious." It was almost true. He really couldn’t picture Tara doing anything to hurt him.  
  
"Right," she countered gently, the hint of a smile about her lips. Then it faded as she asked softly, "Who did this to you, Spike?"  
  
He pulled away from her hands, turning his back on her abruptly. "‘S not what I came here to talk about."  
  
"It’s exactly what I came here to talk about," Tara shrugged.  
  
"Well I don’t want to!" he snapped, taking a step backward toward the door.  
  
"Spike," Tara spoke sharply, moving quickly toward him to block his exit, and was horrified when he quickly stepped back away from her, against the wall, one arm raised defensively, a flash of fear in his brilliant blue eyes. "Spike," she repeated, softer. "I'm not going to hurt you."  
  
Spike's eyes widened as he realized the implications of his reaction, and he lowered his head, too ashamed to look at her. After a brief pause, in a small miserable voice he whispered, "I know."  
  
"Ok, I know I'm not that scary." She closed the distance between them, laughing softly in an attempt to put him at ease. When she reached him, she gently touched his bruised cheek, trying to ignore his flinch at her touch. "Who did this to you, Spike?" she asked softly, and she was not only talking about the bruise.  
  
He looked at the floor, fighting back tears, and didn’t answer. There was something about Tara’s gentle voice and hands–hours upon of hours of Buffy’s abuse only occasionally brought him to this point, but mere minutes of Tara’s compassion had brought him to tears. For some unexplainable reason, he found himself longing to tell her everything. But Buffy had made it very clear that their relationship was not to be revealed to the others, and although nothing had been said about it, he was sure that would go double for this particular aspect of their relationship.  
  
So he just shook his head, staring at the floor, desperately avoiding her eyes. "I can't, Tara," he whispered. "Don't ask me to. I can't tell you, love."  
  
"Did she threaten to hurt you if you told, Spike?" she asked gently, reaching a hand out to tenderly turn his face toward her.  
  
He hesitated, then shook his head. "Look, it's my problem, ok? Let me handle it. I can take care of her on my own." Catching himself, he quickly amended, "It. I can take care of it. On my own."  
  
Tara’s eyes widened. There was only one "her" who would be capable of inflicting such damage on Spike, chip or no chip. She was right, then. "Buffy did this. Didn’t she?"  
  
He looked up at her sharply for a moment, then away again, replying vehemently, "No! It wasn’t her! It–it..." His voice broke off, as he was too taken off guard to come up with a plausible story, and he put his head in his hands, sighing deeply.  
  
Tara moved forward, placing her hands on his arms gently. "It's ok," she whispered. "You can tell me. I know she--"  
  
"You don't know anything!" he snarled, suddenly jerking free of her grip so hard that she staggered backward, and a moment later he was holding his head again in pain. He swore violently as he headed toward the door.  
  
"Please wait!" Tara called desperately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, I just thought I could help."  
  
Turning stormy, troubled blue eyes to her as he opened the door, he said in a voice so soft she almost didn't hear it, "Well it looks like we were both wrong then." And with that he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Slamming the door to the training room behind him, trying not to think about the tears he had seen beginning in Tara's eyes before he left...trying not to acknowledge the ones streaming down his own face... Spike stalked angrily past Anya and toward the door. He was so caught up in the turmoil of his churning emotions that for quite possibly the first time in 3 years he did not even notice Buffy sitting at the table.  
  
She noticed him, however,and his obviously precarious emotional state. By the time he reached the door, she was blocking his path, her arms crossed, her mouth forming a tight, straight, determined line.  
  
He stepped back with a start when he saw her there, looking away guiltily.  
  
"What's up?" she asked, her voice soft, but her eyes piercing.  
  
"Nothing, Slayer," he muttered, moving to slip past her and into the street.  
  
He winced as she caught his arm in a grip that was not quite painful, but reminded him that it could be without much additional effort. "Doesn't look like nothing," she continued softly, her mouth close to his ear.  
  
He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. "Look," he said, reason sounding alarms in his head, warning of the danger he was placing himself in. He had never been one to back down because of danger. "It doesn't concern you, love. Now if you'll just leave me be..."  
  
Her grip tightened. Okay. Definitely painful now. "Oh I think it does concern me, Sweetheart. What's got you so upset?"  
  
"Please, Buffy," he finally whispered, his voice thick with tears. "Just let me go."  
  
Buffy swore quietly in frustration, and released him roughly, with a slight shove toward the door. Relieved, he headed down the street toward his cemetery. He was greatly surprised that Buffy had not pursued the issue any further, but decided that at the moment he was not really up to dissecting the encounter. He just wanted to get to his crypt and the waiting bottle of Jack Daniels that was the only comfort in his life that he could count on at the moment.  
  
  
*That's not the end of that* Buffy assured herself as she headed for the training room. *Give him a little time to calm down and then I'll make him tell me what's going on*  
  
She stopped short right inside the door at the sight of Tara, standing by the wall, gazing out the one small window with tears streaking her soft face.  
  
Concerned, Buffy headed toward her. "Tara?" she softly began, her tone a question. "Are you ok?"  
  
Tara seemed startled. "Buffy!" she gasped. Then she seemed to remember herself, wiping quickly at her eyes, as she continued, "Yes...yes, I'm fine...I'm just...a little down is all. Don't worry about me." She headed quickly for the door.  
  
"Tara," Buffy interrupted impatiently, standing between her and the door. "What's going on? Everybody's so emotional today...you...and Spike..." She paused, her eyes widening with recognition. She looked at Tara with a look that was 3 parts curious....and one small but very distinct part...suspicious. "What just happened here? Tara did he hurt you?"  
  
"No...no!" Tara's eyes widened as the impact of the question hit her. "No, Buffy, he couldn't even if he'd tried, you know that. And he wouldn't...try. It's nothing like that."  
  
"But it does have to do with him...doesn't it?" Buffy would not let it go.  
  
Tara met her eyes for the first time during the conversation, and was disturbed by what she saw there. Beneath her carefully constructed veneer of indifference, there was a frightening gleam in her eyes ...of obsession. It was familiar to Tara; she had seen it in Willow's face frequently of late. Unwilling to admit the wrong she had committed, Willow had persistently called and made attempts to see her, despite Tara's insistent and often tearful pleas that she just give her space and leave her alone, let her process what had happened between them. But Willow could not let it go; a few nights before, Tara had come home to find Willow waiting on her porch, with tears and desperate explanations... and much the same look in her eyes as Buffy had now.  
  
Tara realized uncomfortably that Buffy's particular obsession was leading to something else...jealousy. She began to wonder just what Buffy thought had happened in this room.  
  
"Buffy," Tara began, looking at the floor. "Please. Nothing happened that you need to worry about, I promise. Do you really think I would make a move on him? I mean, really, Buffy? After you told me about you two, and with Willow and all?" There was genuine hurt in her eyes when they met Buffy's again.  
  
"I'm not so worried about you, Tara," Buffy's voice softened, but there was a dark gleam in her eyes that made Tara suddenly frightened...and not for herself.  
  
"Buffy, I swear," Tara went on urgently, shaking her head. "I mean, really, nothing happened at all. He didn't even know I was in here, and came in here I guess to be alone. And then, when he saw I was back here, he just turned around and left. I called to him, wanted him to tell me what was wrong, but he just left, Buffy. I swear that's all that happened." Tara was not used to lying, and she was not at all sure that she had convinced Buffy.  
  
If she had failed, Buffy did not let on. She relented, a small smile edging about her lips, and said softly, "Ok. Sorry, Tara. I just...I just don't know what to think...I'd hate to think that he was being anything less than a gentleman toward you, and I saw him mad and you crying and I...I guess I just jumped to conclusions."  
  
And with that, she turned and walked out again, leaving Tara to her fears.  
  
  
He had just lain down on the bed...after smashing a lamp he had just acquired at the dump the night before against a wall, thereby alleviating about 2% of his frustration...when he heard the door upstairs slam open.  
  
He quickly got up, preparing himself for the furious mood indicated by the slamming door. Bypassing the ladder completely, in a primal move no normal human girl could have accomplished, the Slayer dropped, catlike, onto the floor before him, crouched and on her feet.  
  
When she stood, his eyes were automatically drawn to her clenched fist...and the stake she held in it. She advanced on him quickly, and instinctively he backed away, until his back hit the wall. She raised the stake and held it, the point pressing painfully into his chest, her eyes flashing fury as they met his.  
  
"I know what you just did," she bluffed. "And I'm going to kill you." Her voice was calm, cold, barely concealing her rage.  
  
He was breathing hard, fast shallow, unnecessary breaths. It was a habit of his in emotional situations of any kind...somehow comforting to him. He could not raise his eyes to meet hers. Some analytical portion of his mind thought the situation through while the rest of him stood there frozen in panic. He could resist, but the end result would be the same. He could plead with her, try to reason with her, but he knew the expression on her face to represent a state of mind which would not respond to reason. *Let her do it* he told himself, with a weary sense of defeat. *Come on, lad, you always knew some day she would*  
  
"Before I do," Buffy continued in that same chilling tone, "I'll give you 30 seconds. Try your best."  
  
Confused, his eyes sought hers, unsure as to what she was giving him time for.  
  
"I'll give you a head start," she clarified, rolling her eyes. "Go ahead. Do your worst." Leaning in in a confiding way, she whispered, "You could do a lot of damage in 30 seconds!" And she raised her throat, rubbing it softly against his lips.  
  
Sickened, he turned his head away. And he knew in that instant, completely and thoroughly, he was hers. That was all there was to it. Because even though he had longed for years to taste her, flowing through his veins, even though it would be so easy to take her up on her foolish offer (for a Slayer she really had no concept of just how much damage a vamp really COULD do in 30 seconds!), he knew beyond all doubt that he could never touch her...not like that. There was simply no way that he could bring himself to do it, no matter what she did to him. So he stood there, as the 30 seconds ticked endlessly away.  
  
Finally, when he had counted in his head to 47, he chanced a look back at her. There were tears shining in her brilliant green eyes as she gazed at him.  
  
"That's all I needed to know," she whispered, dropping the stake to clatter on the cold, concrete floor, wrapping her arms gently around his neck and pulling him into the searing heat of her kiss.  
  
Desperately they clung to each other; he pulled her down onto the bed eagerly, urgently, their bodies hopelessly entangled before they even laid themselves down.  
  
It was only moments before she threw her head back in ecstasy, in a blissful parody of her gesture before, exposing her fragile neck to his mercy.  
  
And in that moment, he changed, and in her moment of vulnerability, sank his fangs deep into her throat, and began to drink of her very life. She struggled, with a soft, weak cry of terror, but was not strong enough to fight him off. Something about that did not seem right to him, but he could not think about it for the rush of victory and vindication he felt as her strength and life poured out of her and into him.  
  
He relished the vengeance as her hot, powerful body began to slowly still, slowly becoming cool beneath his touch. Eagerly he drank, hoping to soothe the chill ache that filled his body. But something was not right. As her body slowly became cooler, robbed of its heat, its life, his remained chilled. More desperately he drank, and she became colder and colder...but so did he. He was shaking now with the cold, and he finally released her, his eyes widening in shock and horror as he realized what he had done.  
  
"Buffy! Buffy, no!" he gasped, shaking her lifeless body. "Please! Please, no, I'm sorry, love!" He broke down in sobs, clutching her body to him desperately.  
  
  
With a start he woke up, disoriented, shaken...freezing. Where was he? What had happened? But the first attempt to sit up reminded him, as reality flooded back in a surge of firey agony shooting through his ribcage. He lay back down with a soft groan, and a sigh of relief with the realization that it had been a dream; he had not killed his beloved. He was lying on the cold, concrete floor of his own crypt. One hand reaching down to carefully feel his battered torso, guaging the damage, he winced. No, she had nearly killed him, it seemed.  
  
Rolling carefully onto his side, hoping the new position would give him a bit more leverage, he managed to slowly and painfully pull himself to a sitting position...and was stunned to see Buffy, lying on his bed, on her stomach, her feet up by his pillow, boredly watching some inane talk show on his telly.  
  
It was not the first time she had beaten him to unconsciousness in a violent rage; it was the first time that she had been there when he woke up.  
  
Slowly, cautiously, he braced himself against the wall and struggled to his feet, eyeing her anxiously. She did not even acknowledge him. He had no idea what to expect; this was new completely. He did not want to take a chance and anger her again, and he was not really sure what sort of a mood she was in.  
  
As she seemed to be pretty thoroughly ignoring him, he thought it safe to take a moment to take stock of his injuries. His mouth and nose were clotted with his own dried blood, and very, very sore; he would be badly bruised by now, he knew. Moving downward, various bruises on his shoulders, arms, torso...his ribs...now there was a bloody mess! Purple, no, nearly black, bruises indicated that any mending his rib had done had been reversed, with a few cracks to the others as well. And when he hesitantly took a step toward the bed and nearly collapsed in agony, he knew there was something badly wrong with his left leg.  
  
Clearing his throat nervously, he looked down at the Slayer. Still she ignored him..  
  
"I...I thought I'd take a shower, love," he murmured, his voice low and supplicating. *It's not permission* he told himself, trying to spare his pride. *I don't need her permission to take a shower in my own bloody home!* But he stood there, waiting, until she acknowledged him by nodding her assent, before he would head toward the bathroom.  
  
Painfully removing his blood-soaked clothing, he eased his body over the edge of the tub and into the shower, adjusting the water and then slowly, agonizingly, standing up straight. As the hot water beat down with a soft, soothing ache over his battered body, he leaned back against the wall for a moment, shaking violently as the memory of the evening came back to him.  
  
It had begun much as his dream, with her storming the gates of his crypt as she did so frequently, and his scrambling to reach a less vulnerable position as she quickly made her way down to his bedroom. She had begun questioning him angrily about Tara, and the Magic Box, and what had gone on in the training room. He had no idea what Tara had told her, and tried to act as if nothing had happened; her reactions told him that Tara had done the same, so he stuck with it, but she was not buying. She had brutally beaten him with her fists until he had gone down under them, and then when she could no longer reach him with her fists, she had used her feet. The vicious kicks had been what had smashed in his ribcage, he remembered. The last thing he remembered was one tiny, powerful boot flying toward his face.  
  
And then the nightmare. It did not occur to him to wonder why the thought of killing her as he had done in the dream was more disturbing to him than anything she had done to him in reality. After all, what more did he deserve, really? She was his glorious golden goddess, and he was fortunate that she allowed him even mere moments of her affection.  
  
Yet, still, it hurt, and more than just physically. He loved her, truly loved her with everything in him, and she snatched that love from his outstretched hopeful hands and crushed it in an iron fist, then hurled it to the floor and trampled it mercilessly.  
  
Drawing himself out of his reverie, he was surprised to find himself leaning against the wall with one hand, the other covering his face as he sobbed softly.  
  
Unexpected, a soft hand snaked around his waist, and he felt the gentle pressure of her naked body behind him. She was not hurting him, but he could not help but tense at her touch, knowing that that powerful arm about his waist could turn from soft to cruel in an instant.  
  
Tenderly she kissed his neck, her other hand reaching up to run through his hair, gently tugging his head back against her shoulder. This kindness now only brought on more tears, but he fought them back as best he could.  
  
Never, never had she apologized for a beating. This was as close as she got to it--a tender embrace afterwards, trying to say with her body what she could not force out in her words. But tonight, tonight it was not enough.  
  
He forced himself to pull away from her kiss. "Buffy," he whispered thickly, leaning forward slightly, and wincing as her arm about his waist tightened slightly, heedless of his shattered ribs.  
  
"Shhh," she whispered, pulling him back against her. He was helpless to stop her, as even the slightest pressure on his ribs was agonizing to him. "Don't, Baby. Just be here with me. I want you so bad," she continued, her sultry voice a soft seduction.  
  
In spite of himself he longed for her, but a part of him--a slowly growing part of him that could not help but rebel against the cruel way she used him--told him to resist. With both hands he tried to pull her arm away from his waist, saying in a slightly stronger voice, "Buffy--no." He did not sound sure, but the word was clear and unmistakeable. He repeated it a little louder, just to be certain she had heard him, "No."  
  
But instead of releasing him, she tightened her hold just slightly, and he let out a gasp of pain. "Yes," she whispered, pulling his head back to kiss him again. "Don't fight this, Baby. I need you," and she stepped into the shower with him, pulling the curtain behind her.  
  
A cold hopelessness washed over him with the steaming water, as he realized that he could never stop her. He was helplessly, totally hers, to be bent to her will as she pleased. He couldn't fight her off anymore, physically or emotionally, so instead he surrendered, turning with a hiss of pain to return her kiss with a vicious intensity.  
  
If she was determined to ruthlessly plunder his body and heart of all she could take from him, with or without his consent, he would at least take what little he could get from her in the process. For a few fleeting moments, he could pretend that she was as much his as he was hers.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey guys, sorry I'm late!" Buffy breezed as she forced the door to the Magic Box shut behind her, against the icy wind that tried to beat it back. "A little unscheduled slayage on the way over."  
  
Nobody seemed to mind. Xander and Anya were huddled together over an open book that neither seemed to be paying much attention to, much more interested in the score of the fascinating tonsil hockey game they were involved in at the moment. (Anya appeared to be winning.)  
  
Willow looked up and smiled briefly at Buffy before rolling her eyes toward them and returning her attention to her laptop. Dawn gave her sister a slightly annoyed look, muttering, "as usual", but she smiled and patted the empty seat beside her.  
  
Tara did not look up from the book she was reading.  
  
"Where's Spike?" Dawn asked. "I thought he was with you."  
  
Tara's eyes darted up to Buffy's briefly as Buffy shrugged her shoulders. "How should I know? I don't keep tabs on the evil undead...unless I'm killing them."  
  
Chilled by the flippant tone Buffy used, especially in light of what she now knew about her relationship with Spike, Tara swallowed down the sickness in her throat and looked back at her book.  
  
Dawn looked very disappointed. "He said he was gonna be here tonight," she whined.  
  
Too quickly, Buffy said, "Oh that's right, I forgot. I ran into him last night on patrol, he said to tell you he wasn't gonna be able to make it tonight. He was gonna be busy."  
  
Tara glanced around, wondering if Buffy's lie was as obvious to the others, but Dawn was blissfully unaware, and the others were all too lost in their own affairs to even be aware of the conversation in the first place. Tara returned her gaze to Buffy for a moment, as the Slayer glanced around the table. "So anything new?"  
  
The group chatted lightly for a few minutes before Tara suddenly said, "Oh, my gosh! I'm sorry, guys, I totally forgot! I have to watch my little cousin in like, half an hour! I don't know how it slipped my mind, I'm so sorry!" The last was directed at Willow, whose crestfallen face was almost enough to change Tara's mind.  
  
Willow had been trying desperately to spend time with Tara over the past few weeks, and Tara had finally agreed to come to the next Scoobie meeting, because it seemed like a nice, safe way to spend non-alone time with Willow, without placing herself in a position to be once again begged and cajoled to reinstate their relationship, when she was simply not ready to make a decision on that yet.  
  
"Ok," Willow said quietly. "If you have to...I guess I'll just...call you? Later?"  
  
Tara nodded, smiling apologetically. "Of course, Will. I'm sorry again, guys. See ya!" And she headed for the door.  
  
Buffy watched her for a moment, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Maybe it was just her, but she wondered if the girl was telling the truth.  
  
"Buffy?...Buffy!" Xander's voice broke into her thoughts.  
  
"Sorry, guys," she said, shaking herself out of her thoughts. "Zoning. What was that again?"  
  
  
Tara knocked softly on the door to Spike's crypt, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief at having reached her destination. The cemetery at night was a terrifying place, and she would never have come here alone unless she had no other choice. But she couldn't imagine any of the others wanting to help Spike anyway, except Dawn, and taking her along would have drawn too much unwanted Slayer-attention, not to mention being potentially traumatic for the girl.  
  
When there was no answer, she knocked a second time, harder, and the door fell open a little under her touch. She only hesitated a moment before entering, calling softly, "Spike?"  
  
She didn't want to startle him. If he had been through as much as she thought, he was likely to be a little jumpy, and a jumpy vampire was a dangerous vampire, chip or no.  
  
"Spike!" she called, louder, looking carefully around the room. A few candles were lit, casting a dim glow across the room, revealing that no one was upstairs. She remembered what Dawn had once told her about the layout of the crypt, and headed for the open sarcophagus at the center of the room.   
  
Gazing down into the bottomless darkness, she suppressed a shudder. There was not a hint of light from the lower level of the crypt; anything could be down there. It was almost enough to make her turn around and go home.  
  
But remembering Spike's battered, miserable face the day before, she steeled herself, took a candle from the side of the tomb, and headed down the ladder.  
  
Reaching the bottom, she held the candle up, but could only see a few yards around her. She was beginning to feel a little foolish, and more than a little scared. What if Spike really was ok, just out for the evening? And here she was, alone in his crypt, where any number of creepy things could be lying in wait?  
  
And what if he was lying a few feet ahead of her, beaten and bleeding, and she walked away and left him?  
  
Again gathering her resolve, she felt her way along the wall, and found a little nook with a candle in it. Eagerly she used her candle to light it. In the dim glow from the new candle she could see another such nook a few feet further, so she lit it as well. In this fashion she made her way around the circumference of the room, and when she turned around to face the room, she was relieved to see it awash in a golden glow of light.  
  
Her relief vanished in a cold sickness of terror as her adjusting eyes took in the sight before her. Spike was lying on the floor on his back, a towel draped loosely about his waist, his body battered and bruised. His face was a mess of bruises and cuts, as were his legs and his chest and stomach.  
  
Mentally yanking herself out of her shock, Tara hurried to his side. "Spike...Spike!" she loudly spoke his name, trying to rouse him. Shaking him gently by the shoulder, she tried again louder, "Spike!"  
  
He moaned softly in pain, turning his head toward her, and she felt her body trembling all over in relief. He opened his eyes slowly and peered up at her, as if trying to place her, and she wondered how well he could see right now.  
  
"Tara," he finally whispered, dropping his head back to the floor as if it was simply too heavy and painful to hold it up. "What are you doing here, love?"  
  
"Making sure you're all right," she smiled sadly, her hand on his shoulder gentling to an almost-caress.  
  
"Doing a soddin' awful job of it, aren't you, pet?" he replied, but his laugh was gentle and self-mocking, and she knew he was trying to make light of the situation.  
  
She laughed, but it died quickly as she looked over his battered body more closely. "Come on," she said, putting her arm gently under his shoulders, and trying to help him sit up.  
  
"Oh, God!" he cried out, in a spasm of pain. "No! Wait!"   
  
She froze, holding him up just a little, not wanting to cause him pain, but also painfully aware of how difficult it would be to get him up, and therefore unwilling to lose the little bit of ground she had gained.  
  
He laughed, a short laugh cut off in pain, as he said softly, "Best just let me wait it out, pet. Vampire healing and all...a couple days is all it'll take. And I don't think you can get me off this floor."  
  
"And leave you here so tonight when some vamp insults her dye job she can come here and take it out on you?" Tara snorted. "I don't think so."  
  
He looked at her for a moment, and she could almost see him considering whether or not to attempt to deny the truth. She saw it in his eyes when he gave up, and laughed softly as all of her words sunk in. "God, don't let her hear you say that!"  
  
Tara's expression hardened as she said, "Oh at this point, Slayer or no, she does not want to mess with me!"  
  
He looked at her a little more closely for a moment, and she saw a new respect dawning in his eyes. "I don't think she does at that," he softly replied, a slow smile crossing his lips.  
  
"Now, I am going to help you, and you're going to let me, because...well because you really don't have a choice," Tara replied truthfully, an almost cheerful smile on her lips.  
  
His smile widened and he said, "You've got me there, love. Well then. Let's do this, shall we? If I pass out, we'll just take a little breather."  
  
"If you pass out, I'll probably get you into bed easier," Tara retorted, and then her eyes widened as she realized the second meaning behind her words.  
  
Spike grinned suggestively at her. "And you've just voiced the pathetic dream of horny frat boys everywhere," he smirked.  
  
Tara blushed beet red as she gently lifted his shoulders again. "Come on, now. Let's get you up...on your feet," she shook her head. "Shutting up now," she muttered.  
  
He laughed softly, then sucked his teeth as a new spasm of pain shot through his body at the motion. "You're gonna kill me yet, love. Haven't laughed this much in months, and just now laughing's probably not the best medicine I could be taking."  
  
"Sorry," she whispered, distractedly, focusing on the effort of getting him to his feet with the least pain possible. After a brief struggle they managed to get him on his feet, though he was almost wholly leaning on her.  
  
Looking down beside her to take some stock of his injuries, she frowned, confused. "Don't tell me she beat the crap out of you and then stuck around to clean your wounds."  
  
"No," he smiled, not a happy smile. "I made it to the shower. Just didn't quite make it out."  
  
"So...she beat you...you managed to get cleaned up...and then she knocked you out?" Tara tried to make sense of the situation.  
  
"Something like that," he responded grimly.  
  
"My God, Spike, you'd think she'd have worked it all off already!" Tara sounded angry, disgusted.  
  
Spike felt uncomfortable, ashamed. "Well, I suppose I could have kept my mouth shut. Might have helped."  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
He paused for a moment, as if debating whether or not to tell her, or how much. Then he said without expression, "I told her I hated her."  
  
Tara could not imagine anything that could have shocked her more. Never would she have imagined that Spike would say those words to Buffy.  
  
"My God, Spike, what did she do to you?" she asked, her voice soft, almost awed.  
  
Spike was suddenly fascinated by a spot on the bedspread, and he could not look up at her. "Between me and her, pet," he said softly.  
  
"I'm sorry," Tara quickly replied. "I shouldn't have asked."  
  
"No...it's not...you..." Spike struggled to find the words, then looked up to meet her eyes. Sighing heavily, he continued softly, again gazing at the bed, "This...what you're doin, love...it means something, yeah? Don't think I don't appreciate it, cause I do...I just...that's just..." Suddenly he looked up at her again, fear in his eyes. "She can't ever know that you know, Tara. If she finds out I'm as good as dead. You know that, love."  
  
Tara nodded solemnly. There was no way that Buffy would let her dirty little secret get out to the rest of the gang. She had proven with her actions and words that she saw Spike as something to be used at her whim, and therefore expendable. And Tara did not expect to get any defense for him from the rest of the group. She would keep his secret. For now.  
  
"I won't tell her," she assured him. "But we have to find a way to stop this, Spike. It can't go on." She reached up a gentle hand to cup his cheek, and did not back down when he flinched. Her words were slow, deliberate, as she caught his gaze and held it with her own. "She will kill you anyway. You know that."  
  
He nodded slowly. "I know," he whispered. "After all, I'm not alive...not a person...no soul...just her toy to play with...and little girls like Buffy...their toys don't last very long." His eyes welled with unshed tears, and he looked away quickly before she could see them fall.  
  
"Spike. Look at me," Tara insisted, and the soft command drew his eyes back to hers. "You are a person. You matter. No matter what, she does not have the right to do this to you. And I promise you, Spike. I will find a way to help you."  
  
He did not move, did not make a sound for a long time. Then finally he whispered, so low that she almost didn't catch it, "Thank you."  
  
Removing her hand from his face with a soft caress, she deliberately lightened her tone, "Now. Got any bandages?"  
  
  
An hour later he was lying comfortably in his bed, his bruises and cuts bandaged, his ribs bound. Physically he felt better already; emotionally...that was a different story.  
  
The walls he had built to protect his fragile feelings from Buffy's assaults--which did not work, anyway--had been torn down in an hour of tenderness. Somehow Tara's kindness made him feel that much more raw and vulnerable. She had even tried to insist on going home for her car and taking him to her house to get better. She was worried about Buffy coming back before he was up to defending himself. He didn't think it would be wise to tell her that that would be precisely "never".  
  
But he had insisted on staying put. He did not think it would be a good thing for him or for Tara if Buffy found out that she knew what was going on, or that she had come here tonight and taken care of him. She may have treated him like a possession, a toy, but she never left any doubt that he was HER possession... HER toy.  
  
To be treated like a person...like someone who mattered...after so long...it almost hurt. And to be allowed to make the decision for himself, even when Tara was obviously worried sick at the idea of his staying here alone...still she had left it in his hands. Buffy would have ignored his wishes and simply dragged him back to her house. And after the ultimate savagery that Buffy had inflicted on him the night before...  
  
He shuddered. He did not want to relive that memory again. He laid all the way down in the bed, wanting to go to sleep to escape thinking of what had happened that night.  
  
But again and again that night, in his dreams, the scene played over again...  
  
  
  
With a hiss of pain, he turned to return her kiss. If she was determined to ruthlessly plunder his heart and body of all she could take from him, he would at least take what he could from her in the process. At least for a few brief moments, feel like she was as much his as he was hers.  
  
She pulled him closer to her, and he pulled away, crying out in pain. "Oh God! Buffy, no!"  
  
She only pulled him closer. "No, no, stop!" he fairly sobbed in agony. "I can't, wait!"  
  
Barely able to control herself, Buffy reluctantly pulled away from him, her eyes nearly glazed with desire and need. "What's the problem?" she hissed, obviously desperate to resume.  
  
Trying a weak smile, to take any accusation out of the statement, he said softly, "I'm in too much pain, love. I think I'm going to be pretty useless to you tonight."  
  
Buffy let out an exasperated sound that was more like a moan of frustration. Then she looked at him, with eyes dark with desire, anger...and something darker, that cruel smile back on her lips. "Maybe not," she whispered, twining her arms about his neck and leaning in close. Suddenly she shoved him forcefully to his knees in front of her.  
  
As a lightning bolt of pain shot from his knees up through his legs and through his body at the impact, a cold, sick feeling overwhelmed him. He struggled frantically to get back to his feet on the slippery shower floor, but he was too weak and could not get any leverage. "No! No, Buffy!" he gasped.  
  
"Just shut up and do it," she muttered, holding him down on his knees, her head already arching back in anticipation of the pleasure she sought.  
  
Still he fought her, uselessly. "Buffy, no, please!" he sobbed. She had used and abused him for months, perhaps years, but this was different. She was making it perfectly clear that this was not the least bit about him...he was hers to do with as she pleased, nothing but a possession to be used. His desires, his pain, meant nothing to her. It felt like such a violation, and he felt panicked, desperate to escape.  
  
She gripped his hair with one hand, jerking his head back painfully, leaning in close with a menacing sneer, "Don't be stupid!" she snarled. "Do it!" The threat in her eyes and voice was clear, and he knew that to deny her in this frame of mind would be very dangerous.  
  
So he submitted, knowing he had no other choice. Although he was simply going through the motions, had shut away his heart and mind to protect them from the cruel humiliation his body was being subjected to, she did not seem to notice. She took her pleasure of him, and then helped him to his feet and out of the shower.  
  
As she got dressed in the bedroom after, he stood in painful silence, his back to her  
  
Buttoning her shirt in front of the mirror he kept there only for her benefit, she smirked cruelly and said in a self-satisfied tone, "If you keep using that mouth like that, Baby...less talk, more action...you just might convince me to love you yet!"  
  
The words were a more devastating blow than any she had ever given him. The flippant tone, the cruel mockery of his love, in the face of the ultimate degradation she had just subjected him to...it was all too much. Turning slowly to face her, he stared at her with a cold dead expression and spoke softly, calmly.  
  
"I hate you."  
  
Buffy turned slowly toward him, a smile of indifferent surprise on her lips as she slowly approached him.  
  
"Well," she said softly, coldly, as she reached him. "Maybe we're making some progress after all." Suddenly her eyes became hard with hurt and rage, and she dealt him a savage blow across the face that sent him to the ground. Leaning down with menace in her eyes, she gripped his chin and forced him to look at her. "Doesn't matter if you hate me or not. You're still mine. Don't forget that." With one final kick to his ribs that caused enough agony to send him spiraling into dark oblivion, she stalked out of his life once again.


	4. Chapter 4

Much to his surprise, Spike found himself granted a brief reprieve over the next couple of days. Buffy must have realized how badly she had injured him, because she did not come by the next day, or the day after that. Spike did not even leave his crypt the whole time. The morning of the second day he was planning on going out to get more blood at sunset, but found his fridge restocked.  
  
Tara, he thought with a smile. Usually he hated the idea of pity or needing anyone to take care of him. But somehow coming from Tara, it was all right. Let the girl play angel of mercy if she liked; she was awfully good at it.  
  
So he just hung about the crypt, watching TV and allowing his battered body to recover. His estimate had been about right, and by the end of the second day, he was almost well again. His ribs were still a bit sore, but all his other bruises had faded away.  
  
As the sun set, he climbed the ladder to the upper level of his crypt, having decided he felt up to taking a little walk. Being inside all that time was driving him crazy anyway.  
  
"Finally, God!" The Slayer's harsh tone made him flinch, and he paused before going the rest of the way up, taking a deep breath to steel himself for whatever was to come. "Don't you do anything but sleep lately?"  
  
"Also eat...watch telly...mend broken bones," he smiled, a small tight unpleasant smile, as he stepped onto the floor of the upper level. He was surprised at how un-thrilled he was to see her, even considering the circumstances under which he had last seen her. Usually no matter how she had treated him, his heart still leapt at the sound of her voice, filling him with a cruel, always-unresolved hope. Today, her presence was nothing more than an annoyance--if a dangerous annoyance.  
  
With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he remembered again her cruelty from her last visit, and a chill of fear swept through him. Nothing but fear. He realized with a profound sense of loss that the enormity of the violation she had committed two days ago had broken him in more ways than he had realized. His love was at the very least buried by his hurt and anger--possibly not buried but--dare he even think it, after all this time?   
  
No. He did not dare.  
  
Buffy ignored his little jibe and said, "We're having a meeting tonight. In two hours. Be there."  
  
He nodded, his head down, with a half turn away from her to adjust something on the counter that did not need adjusting.  
  
The lack of attention to her was not something Buffy was used to, and she felt the need to do something about it. Her short, brusque tone had made him think that she was not in the mood to stick around, so he was surprised to feel her arms wrap around him from behind, one around his waist, the other lightly stroking up and down his bare chest.  
  
He tensed, feeling a slight tremor beginning in his stomach.  
  
"Feeling better, Baby?" Buffy asked in a low, husky voice filled with desire.  
  
Forcing back a growing sense of revulsion, he swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  
  
"Good," she said softly, leaving a trail of soft, hot kisses from the back of his shoulder around to his neck, then turning him to face her.  
  
An instant of panic seized him, as he held his head to the side a moment longer, not wanting her to see the expression on his face, knowing that his traitorous eyes betrayed his heart every time. He was certain beyond all doubt that if his true feelings at this moment were revealed to her, he would not make it to the meeting that night; he might not even make it out, at all. Her rage on seeing such complete disgust and hate in his eyes would surely claim his life.  
  
Knowing that he could not avoid facing her much longer, he made a quick decision and practically lunged toward her, capturing her lips with his own in a hard kiss, violent in its intensity. He had meant only to distract her attention, perhaps force her to close her eyes; instead his fury came out unexpectedly as he turned and slammed her hard against the wall, ruthlessly plundering her mouth with his tongue, teeth, lips until she pulled away with an effort, gasping for breath.  
  
With a soft moan of pleasure that turned into a giddy laugh, she smirked up at him. "Wow! Somebody's ready to go!"  
  
Emboldened by his own passionate display, he met her eyes with his old patented smirk, but did not respond. She did not have to know that for him the kiss had not been so much about pleasure as about ripping some shreds of his shattered dignity out of her grasp and taking them back.  
  
A pout on her perfect lips, Buffy said, "We'll have to wait til after the meeting though. I have to pick up Dawn and take her to her friend's house before the meeting. I'm supposed to be there in like, 10 minutes."  
  
He mimicked her pout with his own provocatively full lips. "Guess I'll just have to wait then, love," he said in a low, growly whisper that he knew was guaranteed to make her desperate with desire.  
  
"Oh, God," she let out a frustrated little moan. "I need to get out of here or Dawn's gonna think I'm the worst sister ever!"  
  
He bit back the retort, Too late, as she turned and hurried out the door, calling back over her shoulder, "See you at the meeting."  
  
  
By the time he reached the meeting, a few minutes late, Buffy's mood had already gone downhill from when he had seen her.  
  
Big surprise.  
  
Willow was mopey because Tara was late, too, and she was beginning to wonder if she was going to show up or not, and kept sighing and looking toward the door. Xander and Anya were once again engaged in some minor sex-olympics event right at the table in plain view, and Buffy looked like she was about to lose it.  
  
Spike was surprised when he found himself glancing toward the door occasionally as well, and realized that he was watching for Tara. Before he had time to wonder about that, though, Buffy's frustrated growl interrupted his thoughts.  
  
"Is ANYONE listening to me?" she demanded angrily.  
  
Xander and Anya pretended for a moment to focus on her, but then Xander reached under the table and Anya wrapped her arms around his neck again and they were un-focused again in a matter of seconds. Willow dragged her attention from the empty doorway for a moment, but then glanced back again.  
  
"Wouldn't appear so," Spike muttered, a sneer turning the corner of his lip up.  
  
Buffy shot him a warning glare which he failed to notice. At the moment his anger and resentment toward her were stronger than his fear. Buffy had never done anything to him in front of [the others](http://www.qklinkserver.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=92&k=the%20others&st=1), so he felt reasonably safe.  
  
"Come on, guys. This is important! Focus on something besides yourselves for two seconds please!" Buffy snapped.  
  
"Yeah. Do as she says, not as she does," Spike could not resist.  
  
And the next second he was staggering back under the force of a hard slap across his face. The others saw it happen, but had not heard the comment that led to it. Xander looked amazed and delighted, and snickered quietly. Willow had an expression on her face of shock, but acceptance--as if she did not know why Buffy had done it, but trusted that she had a reason. Anya was already reaching for Xander again.   
  
The abuse and humiliation of the past few days had built in him until it was simply too much. A surge of anger overwhelmed him and before he knew what he was doing he had righted himself and pulled back his fist to deliver a blow in return.  
  
At the last second, he stopped. He did not know if it was the remaining vestiges of his affection for her, or the blaze of menacing rage in her eyes that stopped his hand. But he did stop, meeting her eyes with a shocked expression on his own face, lowering his hand slowly.  
  
For an instant before he dropped his hand, he thought he saw a flash of shock--and maybe a little fear--cross her face. But when she saw him back down, a slow smile crept across the Slayer's lips, as she took a couple of slow steps to bring her right into his face. Without even meaning to, cursing himself for his lack of courage, he took a step back away from her, dropping his eyes instinctively as she backed him up against the wall. Her presence held such power over him that all it took was a look to break him down.  
  
Smiling cruelly, her lips so close that he could feel her breath on his face, she said in a voice too soft for the others to hear, her words slow and deliberate, each one a distinct threat and promise, "If. You. *Ever*. Raise your hand. To me. Again. You will *beg* me to kill you before I am through. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Spike?"  
  
Fear coursing through him, trembling uncontrollably, he nodded quickly, his head down, just wanting to end the confrontation as quickly as possible, get her attention off of him and back onto the meeting. He glanced past her at the others and saw that Anya and Willow were both now watching closely with concerned expressions. Xander was smiling, a self-satisfied smirk that said that he felt this scene was long overdue.  
  
He felt his face flush with shame as Buffy continued her threats, leaning in closer with every word. Finally, she seemed to be finished, as she gripped his shoulder with one hand and said softly, her tone mocking, patronizing, "Now if you don't mind, Sweetheart, you think we could get back to the meeting?"  
  
The pressure was building and building in him, with her cruel grip, her tone and expressions that were both menacing and humiliating, the watchful eyes of the others in the room, until finally it was all just too much. With a burst of strength born of anger, he threw her arm off of him, stepped away from the wall and turned to face her.  
  
"Don't touch me!" he snarled. "Have your little meeting! I don't care what you do! Do it without me!" And he stormed out the door into the night.  
  
Buffy started to follow him, but Willow caught her arm.  
  
"Buffy," she began, and when Buffy turned to look her in the eye, she saw a mixture of worried emotions in her eyes. "Wait. Sit down for a minute and calm down."  
  
Buffy considered for a moment, and knew that if she left now in this state of mind, she would never hear the end of it from her friends. She could stay, put on a good front, give them some explanation for her actions that sounded reasonable, and catch up with Spike later. Because this was NOT over, she told herself. She did not have to go after him now. She knew where to find him.  
  
  
As he stormed off down the sidewalk through flurries of fresh snow, he began to calm down enough to think about what he had just done...and a slow creeping terror began to come over him.  
  
His legs seemed to slowly turn to jelly beneath him, and he staggered to a slow stop on the street, as the wind began to pick up, swirling the snowflakes around him. "Oh God," he whispered. "What have I done?"  
  
He knew Buffy well enough to know that she would not just let this go. He was amazed that she was not following him now. He just had been unable to bear it for another moment, just had to get out. Any moment now, he was sure, she would come up behind him and knock him to the ground, and that would be it. She just might actually finish it this time. And he just might welcome it when she did.  
  
"Spike!" a soft voice called, almost swept away by the swirling wind.  
  
He looked about for a moment for the direction it was coming from, disoriented by the storm that was quickly coming up.  
  
Then a gentle hand touched his arm and he whirled around defensively, his eyes wide and mouth open partially in a manner that made him look incredibly vulnerable.  
  
Tara saw him visibly relax when he realized that it was her. "Aren't you going to the meeting?" she asked, smiling at him.  
  
He did not respond. He was looking at the ground at her feet. That was when she noticed that he was shaking violently under her touch, and seemed almost as if he were in shock.  
  
Drawing closer and taking both his arms in her hands, she said softly, "Spike? Are you ok?"  
  
He shook his head slowly, still not looking at her. That was when she noticed his lip.  
  
"Spike...you're bleeding," she pointed out, gently reaching up to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth with her fingers. "What did she do?" Her voice was infinitely soft, patient, not pushing, not demanding.  
  
"I--I tried to--I almost--" He looked up at her suddenly with wide, panicked eyes. "I tried to hit her, Tara! And then I shoved her and left! Oh, God, Tara, she--she's gonna--"  
  
Tara did not need to hear anymore. Not right then. Her main concern was making sure that Spike was safe. She gently reached out and took his hand, opening it and placing something in it from her other hand.  
  
He looked down at it blankly for a few seconds, not even registering what it was at first. When he realized that it was a set of keys, he looked up at her in confusion.  
  
"Go to my apartment," she softly urged him. "Wait for me there. I have to go to this meeting. If I don't show up after what just happened, Buffy will get suspicious. I need to go ahead and go to the meeting, act normal, and I'll just meet you back there later. Ok?"  
  
He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I can't involve you in this, Tara."  
  
"She won't touch me. I'm human, Spike. She's not that far gone yet." But there was a concern in Tara's eyes that said she wasn't sure how much longer it would be before Buffy was that far gone. "I'll be safe. You can't go back to your crypt. She'll be coming there as soon as the meeting is over. You know that. Go to my apartment and lock yourself in. Ok?"  
  
He just looked at her for a moment in that same stunned silence, and then finally nodded slowly. "Ok," he whispered, looking down again. Then he looked up quickly again, something just occurring to him. "Tara...how will I...?"  
  
"Spike...I invite you into my apartment," Tara said softly, meeting his eyes with her own, full of sorrow and compassion. "Go on, now, hurry. This storm is getting bad," she urged him, giving him a gentle push down the sidewalk as she went on toward the Magic Box. She turned around and called back, as an afterthought, "You'll have to let me in! That's my only set of keys!"   
  
He nodded his understanding and turned around to go. She smiled to herself in satisfaction; there was no way now that he would change his mind, knowing that she was counting on him.


	5. Chapter 5

Spike had never tried to enter a home on a [long-distance](http://www.qklinkserver.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=92&k=long%20distance&st=1) invitation before, so he had no idea if Tara's words were any good. If the invitation didn't work, he would simply [camp out](http://www.qklinkserver.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=92&k=camp%20out&st=1) at her doorstep until she got there. And when she did, he would just explain to her how it only made sense for him to go back to his crypt... how if he wasn't there when Buffy got there it would only be worse when she found him...how he was utterly and hopelessly trapped, beyond all help.  
  
He turned the key in the lock, and the door swung open under his hand. He reached out, and his hand went through the doorway, no problem. With a sigh he went the rest of the way into Tara's dimly lit apartment. This changed nothing, he told himself. He would still go back to his crypt as soon as Tara got home.  
  
He looked around the small apartment absently, restless and anxious and looking for a distraction. It was the type of place one would have expected for Tara: small and close, but with a warm, safe feeling. It was lit by a small table lamp on an end table at the far end of a soft, deep red loveseat, and a few scattered candles that cast a warm glow around the room. A small kitchenette lay beyond the [living room](http://www.qklinkserver.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=92&k=living%20room&st=1), and a door to the left led to a bedroom, Spike assumed. And that was all. A very small apartment, probably all Tara could afford. But she had quite obviously made it home.  
  
He let out an impatient sigh as he sat down on the end of the loveseat. If only Tara had an extra key! It would be so much easier to just slip out now while she was not here and go back to his crypt to wait for the inevitable. But leaving Tara unable to get into her apartment was not an option.   
  
He thought of leaving the door unlocked, but on the Hellmouth, that was also not an option. He would never forgive himself if someone or something got into her apartment because he left the door unlocked, and something happened to Tara. The same reasoning eliminated the thought of leaving the key under the mat. It was the first place anyone would think to look, so Tara would not have a hard time getting in...but then, neither would anyone else.  
  
Leaning back against the loveseat with another sigh of resignation, he thought he would just rest a bit until she got there. He closed his eyes...just a few minutes...  
  
  
Tara knocked softly on the door of her apartment. No answer. She knocked a little louder, and there was still no response. Beginning to feel a little concerned, she fumbled in her purse for her spare key. The only-key thing had been just a ruse to keep Spike at her apartment until she got there. Tara knew enough to know that without some tangible thing to hold him there, he would surely have fled by the time she got there.  
  
Quickly she unlocked the door and slipped inside, locking the door and deadbolting it behind her. She eyed it critically for a moment. She did not think that Buffy would have any idea that Spike was here, but it still made her feel more secure that her apartment had a steel door with a deadbolt.  
  
Turning to face her living room, she felt a sense of relief at the sight of Spike, sprawled out on her loveseat...which was painfully small for him to sleep on, she thought. She slowly approached him, not wanting to wake him and frighten him. His features were smooth in a moment of peaceful slumber, thick dark lashes brushing elegant cheekbones of ivory. His perfect lips were parted slightly in sleep, and she noted with a frown that blood had dried on them. He had not taken the time...or the liberty...to clean the wound Buffy had given him.  
  
She walked into the kitchen and took a small glass bowl, filled it with warm water, and returned to the living room, picking up a clean dishcloth on the way. As she neared him, his features suddenly twisted in fear, as he let out a soft little moan in his sleep.  
  
"No," he whispered, the words little more than a breath. "No!" in pleading tones. "Please!"  
  
Quickly kneeling beside him, Tara reached a gentle hand to touch his face. "Shhh," she whispered. "Spike...Spike wake up, Honey." With her other hand she gently shook his shoulder.  
  
He woke up with a start, straining against her hand to sit up, with a final anguished cry, "No!"  
  
Instinctively she put her arms around him from the side, gently rubbing her hand up and down his back in a soothing way, even as she did, surprised at how her instinct in this situation was to nurture and comfort him, instead of to run or shrink back in fear because, hello, vampire. But then, for some odd reason, she had never been afraid of Spike. And now, in this particular moment, he was so helpless, so vulnerable--her maternal instincts took over and all she could do was reach out to hold him. "Shhh," she whispered. "It was only a dream. It's ok. You're safe." She murmured comforting words until he seemed to recognize where he was.  
  
He looked at her with startled eyes, and she could see the panic slowly subsiding in them. "Tara..." he whispered, as if just recognizing her.  
  
She nodded with an encouraging smile. "You need to rest," she urged him softly. "Lie back down. I'm just going to clean up this nasty cut you've got here."  
  
He looked as if he wanted to resist, but was simply too exhausted and drained to have any fight left in him. Obediently he laid back down, and she gently blotted the ugly gash Buffy's fist had made in his lip with the soft, warm towel. As she worked, he closed his eyes again, and she could see his chest moving up and down...slow, even breaths. She knew he didn't have to breathe; he was trying to calm himself down.   
  
Deliberately she took her time, using gentle, soothing strokes with the cloth, then setting it aside and just lightly stroking the backs of her fingers down the side of his face in a comforting way, mimicking actions her mother had done when she had had nightmares as a small child. As she did--slow, even, soothing movements--she could feel him leaning just slightly into her touch, and her heart ached with the depth of his need, just for a simple touch that did not seek to break him, to take from him.  
  
Finally, when he seemed to be asleep again, she stood up and started to take the bowl back to the kitchen. But as she did he suddenly reached out and took her arm in a desperate grip. "Wait," he rasped.  
  
She turned and saw him leaning up on one arm, gazing up at her with tear-filled eyes, and with a trembling mouth he whispered, "Please...don't go."  
  
Her own eyes filled with tears, and she set the bowl back down on the floor.  
  
"Sit up a little," she murmured softly, helping him up just enough for her to slide onto the loveseat, then gently lowering his head back down onto her lap. His knees were drawn up to fit his body onto the small piece of furniture, and he seemed so small and vulnerable.  
  
At first he tried to sit up when he realized what she was doing. "No," he whispered in a small, frightened voice that made her heart ache. "You don't have to..."  
  
"You're right," she said firmly, pushing him back down gently, and looking him in the eye. "I don't have to. I want to. Just rest..." Her voice was hypnoticly soothing, and he obeyed, lying his head back down on her lap.   
  
With soft, gentle hands she tenderly caressed his face, ran her fingers slowly through his hair. As she did she continued to speak softly to him, using her hands and her words to soothe and comfort him. "It's all right. You're safe here," she told him. "No one can hurt you here. Just rest."   
  
She repeated herself many times, and the words themselves began to lose meaning. All that mattered was the soft cadence of her voice, moving in lulling rhythm with her hands, as he slowly drifted back into a much-needed rest.  
  
  
Spike woke with a start, disoriented and fighting off a sense of panic that had followed him from his dreams to wakefulness. Looking hurriedly around the room, trying to place the unfamiliar surroundings, he looked down at the blood-red loveseat beneath him--the glass bowl on the floor at its side...  
  
Tara's apartment.  
  
Strangely, with the heavy brocade curtains carefully drawn so as to shut out all possible sunlight, the room was actually darker in the morning than it had been the night before. The candles were no longer lit, and the lamp had been turned off.  
  
Tara was nowhere in sight. She must have gotten up at some point during the night and gone to sleep in her bed. The memories of the night before, drifting off to sleep in comforting, soft arms, made him feel warm and peaceful even now.  
  
But then he remembered reality.  
  
He stood up anxiously, looking about the room for something he could cover up with to make the dash from shadow to shadow to make his way back to his crypt in the daylight. There was a throw blanket across the back of the loveseat, but when he thought about taking it, he didn't want to destroy anything of Tara's, not after she had been so kind to him.  
  
He had to get back. Buffy would have been there the night before, looking for him. When she found the crypt empty, she had surely become even more enraged than she had been at the Magic Box. He shuddered at the thought of what she would do to him when she found him.   
  
It was best to get back as quickly as possible. Perhaps he could even save it, make up some plausible reason for why he had not been home all night, somehow try to convince her that he had not dared to attempt to hide from her.  
  
But he had to find a way to leave, first.  
  
Just as he was casting about in his mind for some way to escape, the door to Tara's room opened and shut again softly. He looked up to see her standing in front of him, wearing a luxuriously soft, thick red bathrobe, and a warm smile on her face.  
  
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she spoke, and the warmth of her voice flooded his head.  
  
"Morning," he replied softly, hoping the wave of adoration he felt at the sight of her did not show in his eyes.  
  
The memory of the perfect peace, safety, of the night before was etched in his mind irrevocably. And Tara was the one who had brought it. In the miserable, painful mess his un-life had become, Tara had been his savior--if only for one night. No matter what happened now, no matter what Buffy did to him, nothing could change that in his mind.  
  
He looked away from her, focusing his eyes on the bowl at his feet, just to avert his eyes from her face. It seemed somehow presumptuous to gaze at her like that...he felt undeserving of her kindness, and ashamed that he had been so in need of it.  
  
"Hungry?" she asked.  
  
In spite of it all his eyes raised to meet hers, his eyebrows raised quizzically, and one corner of his mouth turning up in a gently mocking smirk.  
  
Tara blushed, realizing her mistake. Then she quickly covered, and quite well, laughing softly. "Oh please, Spike, I've seen you put away the food. Don't tell me you'd turn down homemade waffles right now."  
  
Her smiling eyes and lips tempted him in ways he did not want to contemplate...ways that seemed somehow disrespectful in light of the past few days.  
  
*Get a hold of yourself you bloody wanker* he told himself. *She doesn't even like men. And even if she did, you'd never have a soddin' chance with a girl like that.*  
  
He smiled back at her, hoping it masked the inner whirlwind of his emotions, and nodded defeat. "Right you are, love. You've got me again."  
  
Tara nodded emphatically once. "Comfort food it is then," she smiled, and headed to the kitchenette, beckoning with her hand for him to follow.  
  
He seated himself comfortably on a stool at the counter and contently watched her preparations.  
  
"I want you to know," Tara said softly, her back to him, "you can stay here as long as you like."  
  
He looked down at the counter. "I know, love. I mean... I know you'd let me...but...the longer I stay away...the worse it's gonna be..."  
  
"Buffy can't find you here," Tara interrupted quietly, turning around to look him in the eye.  
  
Feeling guilty, he looked down again, nodding. "I know, love. If she does, there's no tellin what she'd do and I don't want you hurt because of me..."  
  
"No," Tara shook her head, walking to stand across the counter from him, placing her warm, steady hand on top of his cool, trembling one, forcing him with the contact to look up and meet her eye again. "I mean she *can't* find you here. I...took some precautions last night...after you went to sleep," she explained. "Buffy told me before that she can sense vampires...and whenever she told me about the two of you...she said she can sense you especially...and know it's you."  
  
"She told you all that?" Spike was surprised, and a little nervous. "What all did she tell you exactly?"  
  
Tara smiled, her finger making small patterns on the back of his hand in a tender caress. "Just that you two were sleeping together," she said bluntly. "Basically. That's about it, really."  
  
"Yeah. That *is* about it, really," Spike's voice was disgusted, ashamed.  
  
Tara's hand closed over his comfortingly again, a wordless affirmation of understanding. "What I'm saying is, I did a special kind of ward so that she won't be able to sense you here. I mean, she might come and ask me if you're here, or knock on the door if I'm not here...but if she can't sense you...she knows she usually can...she'll trust her Slayer-sense and she'll assume you're not here."  
  
Spike thought for a moment, digesting that. It seemed foolproof enough. Of course, that was usually a dead giveaway that something would go wrong.  
  
"I can't just stay here indefinitely, love," he argued quietly. "I wouldn't impose on you. I have to at least go out for blood on occasion. And one of those times, she'd catch me, pet. And the longer I'm gone..."  
  
"Not indefinitely," Tara broke in, her voice still soft and even...as soothing to him as it had been the night before. "I can get your blood for you. Just for a little while...just til we can figure out what's wrong with her... and help her."  
  
He looked up at her quickly. "That's what I was hoping..." He looked down again; why was it so impossible for him to hold anyone's gaze lately, he wondered. "That's why I came to you...in the Magic Box the other day," he confessed softly. "I wanted you to [help me find](http://www.qklinkserver.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=92&k=help%20me%20find&st=1) out what was wrong with her so we could help her. Because this...this isn't her, Tara. She was never like this before..." There was such quiet desperation, such aching grief and agony in his voice, that she could hardly bear it.  
  
Unexpectedly, Tara came around the counter and wrapped a gentle arm around his shoulders, her other hand gently running through his now soft blonde hair, most of the gel having worked itself out during his fitful tossings of the night before. "I know," she murmured gently. "and we'll figure it out. We'll help her. But in the meantime," she moved her hand from his hair to gently turn his face toward hers, meeting his eye with a firm, holding gaze, "you don't need to be around her...at least not alone with her. She will kill you, Spike. She will kill you." She repeated the words to be sure they had the full impact. "Just stay here for a little while, where you're safe. Where she can't get to you. Please? Just a little while, while we work this out?"  
  
Her warm, compassionate eyes pleaded with him, and he could not deny her...not when he owed her as much as he did. Reluctantly, he nodded, lowering his eyes again, and he knew that he would keep his word to her, this soft and strong, surprising woman, his angel of mercy.


	6. Chapter 6

The next couple of days were very strange for Spike. For one thing, he was not used to actually living in a house--or apartment, as was the case. Modern conveniences that most took for granted seemed like luxuries to him. He did not leave the apartment at all, as Tara had requested, but it was actually kind of nice, knowing that the magical barriers she had erected were in place, having the surety that he was really safe.  
  
They fell into a routine of sorts; in the days he would sleep, while Tara was at work. When she got home she would wake him and either cook dinner or order in take-out. They found they had a shared passion for moo goo gai pan; he would enjoy a huge plateful with his blood. They would spend the evening together, chatting comfortably about little nothings. Tara would tell him about her day; he mostly just listened, interjecting his comical comments here and there.  
  
She never pushed him to talk about his relationship with Buffy, or how he felt, and he was deeply grateful for it. At times he felt the weight of his painful memories bearing down on him excruciatingly, and a part of him longed to share the load with an understanding friend, as Tara had turned out to be. But as kind as she had been to him, something still held him back.   
  
After all that she had done for him, he thought that she would probably want to know why--what it had all been about. And had she pushed him, he would have felt obligated enough that he probaby would have told her. But she never did.  
  
At night, Tara would go to sleep, and he would stay up, watching television until the wee hours of the morning, when nothing was on of enough interest to keep him from his darkest thoughts--which he realized with a different sort of fear were suspiciously bordering on brooding.  
  
This routine was comfortable, and he felt very safe and secure in it, so for a while he didn't even feel a desire to leave the apartment. But after about a week, he began to feel the beginnings of stir-craziness coming on. A creature of the night such as he was not meant to be kept indoors all the time, he thought.  
  
The next morning, when Tara walked out of her bedroom, he was dozing lightly on the loveseat. Through the mist of half-sleep, he felt her gentle hands on his shoulders, kneading lightly for a moment to wake him.  
  
"Come on, Sweetie," Tara softly said. "Get up and go to bed."  
  
He felt a soft warmth spreading through him at her gentle words and tone. Tara peppered her talk with pet names as he did his with English curses. At first it had thrown him a bit, because although he used a lot of pet names in his speech, he had found that most Americans did not.   
  
But he soon understood that for Tara, physical and verbal affection were not things to be reserved only for one special person, but rather just a part of her normal everyday communication.  
  
Understandably, the first couple of times she hugged him, or casually swept her fingers across his arm or back in passing him, he had tensed, almost unconsciously, with a sense of alarm going through him. He had come to associate even gentle, affectionate touches with the brutality that, in his experience, had so often followed them. But it soon became obvious that Tara's physical affection was utterly guileless and without ulterior motives. She was affectionate simply for the sake of being affectionate, and did not expect anything in return--which was good, because at that point, he felt empty, drained, with nothing left to give.  
  
He turned a warm smile up at her as he slowly stretched and rose from the loveseat. "Tara," he said, a nervous note in his voice. "I was thinking of going out for a bit this evening."  
  
Tara frowned slightly, but nodded, as it was clear he had more to say.  
  
"Please don't think I don't appreciate all this, love...I do, really...you've been better to me than I deserve, I know it. But I'm going crazy not getting out at all, yeah? I'll be careful, I promise."  
  
His deep expressive eyes were apologetic and pleading at once, and it bothered Tara that he seemed to feel that he needed her permission. She felt that he would be safer in the apartment, but it was his decision to make.  
  
"You can do whatever you like, Honey," she told him, looking him in the eye as she gently pushed an unruly blonde curl back from his face. "If you don't mind though, I'd feel better if you'd let me do one thing."  
  
"Anything for you, Pet," he vowed, flashing her a brilliant smile that warmed her heart.  
  
"I'd feel a lot safer about you being out there if I knew you could let me know if you get in any trouble."  
  
"I hate to tell you, love, but there's not a lot you could do to stop Buffy if I run into her," Spike frowned slightly. "And to tell you the truth, I'd hate to see you try. I don't want her to hurt you..."  
  
"She won't," Tara insisted. "She has no idea that I know what's going on. Just my being there would probably stop her. She doesn't want her friends to know. So if I came up in the middle of it, she'd stop."  
  
He nodded slowly, reluctantly conceding that she had a point. "So what's your idea, pet?" he asked with a sigh.  
  
It was Tara's turn to look uncomfortable and unsure, and he found it completely endearing. "Well," she began softly. "and this is only if you want to...I would never push you to do something so invasive...but...I was thinking...if we could establish some sort of... psychic link...so you could call me even if you can't call me out loud...you know?"  
  
He frowned, trying to understand. "Like Red did last summer?" he asked. "When we all patrolled together?"  
  
She nodded, relieved that he understood her. Then she frowned slightly, and added hurriedly, "Except that...I'm *asking* you. Not just doing it. Like she did." She looked embarrassed by her former lover's actions.   
  
Though no one had thought much of it at the time, Spike remembered the shock of hearing Willow's voice in his head, that night at the tower. Of course, she had had a very good reason for doing so, and enough had happened that night to drive all thoughts of the appropriateness or not of that action from his mind. He hadn't given it a thought since then, but now that Tara mentioned it, it *had* been a little intrusive.  
  
"So...you'd be able to read my thoughts?" he began, a little nervous. There were a lot of things rattling around up there that he'd rather never came to light, especially not with Tara.  
  
"No, no," Tara insisted, shaking her head. "Only the ones you wanted me to. That is, only when you were talking to me."  
  
"Well, then...ok," he agreed, nodding. "Sounds like a good idea. What do we do?"  
  
"You don't have to do anything," she instructed, coming around the loveseat and taking both his hands in hers, leading him to sit down beside her. She closed her eyes in preparation, and her voice dropped to a husky murmur, "I'll just kind of... reach out...for your essence ...and try to find a thread...and then just sort of..." She searched for the word, then opened her eyes a moment and shrugged, "grab on," she finished with a sheepish smile, as she failed to think of a more technically magical term.  
  
He closed his eyes with her, and tried not to think too much about the warm tingly sensations that accompanied her soft hands in his. *Bloody stupid git* he chided himself. *Every bint you fall for has "doomed" stamped across her bleedin' head,but you fall for 'em all the same* He knew he didn't have a chance with Tara--knew eventually she would go back to Willow--but for now, he would content himself with the warmth and comfort of her friendship.  
  
A peaceful, almost drowsy feeling swept over him for a few moments, and he was almost afraid he would nod off.  
  
*...2,3, testing...Spike...can you hear me?*  
  
His eyes opened wide, and she was gazing at him with a serene expression, which broke into a smile when she saw him hear her words.  
  
"I can hear you!" he exclaimed in surprise, wide-eyed and amazed.  
  
She laughed aloud. *Try it like this. Just think it...direct it at me..."  
  
He squinted his eyes shut tight, and she giggled a little. It was actually quite cute.  
  
*Hey, now. None of that.*  
  
Tara laughed. *I could get used to this*  
  
*Me too, love*  
  
"Ok, good," Tara said aloud, releasing his hands and standing up. "If you get into any trouble, you just call out my name...and I'll come running." She smiled as she spoke the lyrics to the song, meeting his eyes with a warmth of affection he had never felt before.  
  
He smiled back, hoping he didn't look as ridiculous as he felt. "Got it," he said in a voice that was low, not letting go of her gaze. "What if there's no trouble? And I just wanna see you?"  
  
The words were barely out of his mouth when he was mentally kicking himself. *Oh bloody hell, where did that come from? You stupid prat! Just announce to the girl that you've fallen for her bloody head over heels!*  
  
But Tara only laughed softly, reaching up a gentle hand to touch his face in an affectionate way. "I'll be there," she replied softly, and his heart did a funny little flip in his chest.  
  
Surely she couldn't mean it the way it sounded. She was in love with Willow...wasn't she? *No, no, no! Stop it now, Stupid!* he told himself firmly. *You do this every bleedin' time! She's your friend and that's all! It's just her way to be soft and girly and affectionate like that, she means nothing by it, so shut up!*  
  
He just smiled in return, feeling like an idiot for his silence.  
  
"I'm off," she said brightly, turning away from him quickly. "Get some rest if you're going out tonight, ok?" And then she was gone.  
  
And obediently he went into her room and lay down in her bed, drifting off to pleasant dreams for once, on the memory of her smile and her touch.  
  
  
He awoke by instinct mere minutes after sunset. He had been looking forward to getting out of the apartment all day. Tara was not home yet; she must have had to work late, he thought. Well, she was expecting him to go out for the evening, so she would not worry. He got dressed and headed out, carefully locking the door behind him.  
  
*Tara?*  
  
He waited a few moments, and was beginning to think he had done it wrong or something, somehow it had not worked, when the soft response echoed in his mind, *Everything ok?*  
  
*Just peachy, love. Heading out, just wanted to let you know.*  
  
*Thanks. I'm gonna be working still for another hour or so, so I'll just see you in the morning, ok?*  
  
*Ok. Right convenient this is, innit?* He smiled to himself, and imagined that she could feel it in his thoughts.  
  
Tara's musical laugh echoed through his mind, and then the reply, *The best way to reach out and touch someone.*  
  
Was it just his own permanently perverted mind that turned her innocent little comments into innuendos, or was she flirting with him? He couldn't tell, but kept insisting to himself that it must be the former. Tara was out of his league in sooo many ways!  
  
He had been so looking forward to going out, but had not actually made any definite plans as to where to go. He was surprised and alarmed when he pulled himself out of his thoughts and realized that he was on the street where the Magic Box was.   
  
He froze for a moment, an instantaneous panic coming over him, before reminding himself that the Slayer was probably either patrolling, or out looking for him, and certainly would not be here this late. Generally Scoobie meetings were held in the daytime, unless for some reason they required his presence, in which case Buffy would hold off until evening so that he could be there, as in the case of that last, disastrous meeting.  
  
He wondered wistfully how Dawn was doing. He missed her. They talked less since Buffy had come back, but their bond remained, and he knew she was worried about him. Tara said she had asked about him, but she had thought it best to keep his current whereabouts hidden from her. He knew that Dawn loved him, and would never have done anything to hurt him, but she was fifteen years old, and all it would take was one innocent slip-up to place him right back in Buffy's brutal hands.  
  
As for the rest of the Scoobies, he could care less. There had never been any love lost between him and Xander, and Anya got on his nerves. As for Willow, the two of them had always held a polite, reserved suspicion for each other, and he had read between the lines enough to know that Willow had not been making Tara very happy lately, so she was no one that he was very concerned with at the moment either.  
  
Maybe it was the thought of Dawn that compelled him to do it. Maybe it was simply the pull that draws a recovering addict back to the substance he knows will someday kill him. He would not be able to tell later, why. But he found himself behind the Magic Box, at the back door that led into the training room. Glancing through the window cautiously, he saw that the room was empty, the door leading into the store shut. Not really sure why, he tried the training room door--and it opened in his hand.  
  
*Well that's bloody careless," he thought. *Anyanka's slippin'.* He hesitated for a moment, then walked through the door and into the training room.


	7. Chapter 7

Across the street and one block down, at the Espresso Pump, Tara sat on a soft leather sofa in a back corner, a novel in one hand and a double caramel latte in the other.  This was nice, she told herself.  She in no way minded helping Spike; after weeks of worry since Buffy had told her about them and the beatings had started, it was a blessed relief to know that he was safe. 

 

And she had to admit, although she knew she had made the right decision in breaking up with Willow, the past month without her had been very lonely, and to her slight surprise, Spike was good company.  All that considered, with Spike not leaving the apartment, Tara-time had been at a minimum lately.  It was nice to be able to spend a little quiet, cozy time with a book and a hot drink, in comfortable solitude.

 

So why did she keep thinking about him?

 

She told herself that it was just concern because he was out on his own for the first time since he'd come to stay with her.  Her protective maternal instincts come to the forefront, making her think about where he was, what he was doing.

 

But the way her visual image of him centered in on fathomless blue eyes, framed by lush dark lashes... the warmth she felt low in her stomach at the thought of his brilliant smile, so rare these days...she had a sneaking suspicion that those thoughts were at the very least bordering on something not-at-all maternal. 

 

She tried to shake off the thoughts, that were wrong in so many ways.  First of all, he was a man--sort of.  Actually, that was points one _and_ two on her list.  And the reason that stood out the most firmly to her at the moment was the fact that he was incredibly vulnerable at the moment.

 

Tara was not blind or stupid.  She had not failed to notice the blatant adoration that he occasionally got in his eyes when he looked at her.  She noticed him watching her when he thought she wasn't looking, and knew that he was developing feelings for her.  But she was intelligent enough to know that enough time had not yet passed for him to fully get over his intense feelings for Buffy, and any affection he was feeling toward her was most likely a combination of gratitude and transference.  To take advantage of that would be undeniably wrong.

 

Still, she had to admit that he _was_ gorgeous.  And sometimes, when she would turn around to find him gazing at her with those adoring eyes, her breath would catch in her throat, and she would find her face flushing and her heart pounding unexpectedly.

 

And what about Willow? she wondered, laying aside her book with a frown, gazing out the window pensively at the snow-gilded street.  It was not as if she had never been with a man before; Willow was in fact the first woman she had ever been with.  But when she had found Willow, she had thought that she had found herself--her identity--in their relationship.  Here lay the reason why her relationships with men in the past had gone so horribly wrong--didn't it?

 

But then, hadn't her relationship with Willow gone horribly wrong as well?

 

Almost in spite of herself she found herself reaching out for the thread she had caught earlier.

 

_Spike?_

 

There was a slight pause in which she heard nothing, and then a faint reply, _Yeah, love?_

 

She smiled at the sound of his voice in her head. _Just thought I'd see what you're doing...if you're having a good time._

 

 _Yeah, 's good to get out,_ came the distracted reply.

 

 _Where are you?_ she asked out of mere curiosity and to make conversation.

 

There was a lengthy pause, with no reply.  Tara felt a little unsettled.

 

 _Spike?_ she prompted.

 

Finally the reply came, _At the Magic Box_.

 

Tara's heart dropped. _Why?_ she asked urgently. _Spike, that's too dangerous!  Buffy--_

 

_Buffy's patrollin'. Nobody even knows I'm here, pet.  I'm in the training room._

_Why'd you go there, Spike?  What if she finds you?_   Tara felt sick with fear.

 

 _Just thought I might here some word about the Niblet_ , Spike responded. There was another brief pause before he continued, _I miss her a lot, love.  Thought maybe they'd say something bout how she's doin', or maybe she's even in there.  I could hear them from here...supernaturally enhanced hearin' and all that._

_Spike, be careful_ , Tara urged him.  _I don't like this...I've got a really bad feeling..._

  

Spike silently wandered around in the training room, picking up weapons randomly, putting them back down, all the while keeping his ears tuned for the sound of conversation from the store.  But nothing but silence reached his hearing; must be a heavy-duty study session going on, either that or no one was even there but Anya.  Glancing around, his eyes fell on a small black and white composition notebook sitting on a pommel horse. Idly he went to it and picked it up. It was Buffy's, in which she kept notes on the various things the Scoobies faced lately.  She had taken up the habit since Giles had returned to England.

  

_That's odd.  Seems Buffy left her book here._

Suddenly Tara felt overwhelmingly ill with the unexplainable certainty that Buffy would be coming back for the book.

 

_Spike! You need to get out of there!_

_Don't worry, love. She's patrolling. She won't come back here for hours. Don't worry bout--_   The thought cut off suddenly, and without warning Tara's senses were assailed with an overwhelming sense of fear. Crippling, paralyzing, absolute terror.

 

With a sick realization she suddenly knew that the emotion she was feeling was Spike's, carried to her on his thoughts.  In the next moment, she heard his voice again in her mind--loud, panicked, desperate.

 

_Tara, Tara! Oh God, TARA!_

_I'm coming,_ she responded, jumping up from the couch and rushing out the door into the snowy street.

 

 Before he knew what had happened, Spike found himself pinned against the wall next to the pommel horse, Buffy's strong arm across his throat, cutting off his breath.  He did not need it to live, but he did need it to speak, and he could not make a sound.

 

Leaning in, a cold smile of triumph on her face, she whispered, "Well, well. Fancy meeting you here.  I think we need to have a little talk, don't you, Baby?"  Her smile faded instantly as she hissed in his ear, "If you make one sound without my permission I will kill you, understand?"

 

He nodded quickly, desperately, gasping for breath.  He knew intellectually that he would not die for lack of oxygen, but it seemed to be a left-over reflex from his humanity that having his air cut off sent him into a panic.

 

"Good," Buffy sounded satisfied; she was still whispering.  Someone else must be in the Magic Box still.  Not that it made any difference to him; he knew better than to defy her by making a sound. 

 

Besides, no one in the Magic Box would help him anyway.  If they were to come into the training room and see this scene, they would only assume that he was at fault.  After all, he was the one who was an "evil thing"; Buffy was the one Chosen to rid the world of his kind.  She was only exercising her right--no, her duty-- if she chose to take his life.

 

She released his throat but stayed intimidatingly close, her hands on his shoulders instead, pinning him helplessly.  "Now," she began, and without warning rared back and backhanded him so viciously that his head slammed back against the wall and he would have gone down had her hand not been holding him up. "About your little tantrum the other day..."

 

 Halfway down the block to the Magic Box, moving as quickly as she could in the snow in her heels, Tara suddenly felt a strong jolt that was not quite a physical pain that nearly dropped her in her tracks.  She knew in some deep part of her that this was Spike's pain.  Buffy had gotten to him, and she was hurting him.

 

_Tara...oh_ _Tara_ _...please...hurry..._

 

His voice sounded muddled, confused...as if he was having a hard time putting his thoughts together.

 

_I'm coming, Spike, hold on!_

  

"And what, now you're going through my things, too?" Buffy hissed furiously, holding up the composition notebook in his face, her fingernails digging painfully into his shoulder.

 

He shook his head, "No! Please Buffy I didn't--"

 

Dropping the book, Buffy yanked his head back by the hair, hard, leaning in close to snarl, "Did I say you could talk?"

 

He shook his head, trembling uncontrollably by now, his eyes closed against the terror of the moment. "N-no, Buffy, I'm sorry!" he whispered. "I'm sorry, please!"

 

"Then _shut up_!" she snapped in a loud whisper, delivering a brutal blow with her fist across his face.

  

 _Spike? Spike?_ Tara urgently sought him as the Magic Box came in sight ahead of her.  She had not heard anything from him in a minute or two.

 

There was a long silence.

 

_Say something, Sweetie! Are you ok?_

_Tara_ _...hurry...now!_ the words came weak, faint, barely able to be heard.

 

Tara threw all her strength into a run as she hurried on toward the lights of the store.

  

Buffy had a stake in her hand now, still gripping his hair painfully. "So where were you hiding all this, time, Sweetie?" she asked, her tone patronizing, a mockery of tenderness that chilled his heart after the reality of it in which he had spent the last week.

 

He knew that he could not tell her he had been at Tara's.  Tara believed that Buffy would not hurt her, but he was not so sure, and he refused to put her at risk.  But his thoughts were too scattered from the brutal blows he had taken to compose any believable story, so he just stood there in silence, trying desperately to pull himself together.

 

A dangerous gleam in her eyes, Buffy drew very close to him, so that her body was pressed a bare half an inch from his, held the stake against his chest and hissed menacingly, "You had best answer me, Baby.  Now."

  

Tara flung herself through the Magic Box door, looking wildly about.  Anya saw her and took a step away, eyeing her suspiciously.

 

"Tara? Are you all right?"  Then she frowned.  "Have you been crying? Did something attack you?"

 

"No, no," Tara gasped for breath, realizing that she did indeed have tearstains on her face.  She had not even realized that she had been crying.  But that might prove to be useful.  "Have you seen Buffy?"

 

"She's in the training room. She went in there to work out about 10 minutes ago."

 

Tara did not wait for the rest of her explanation but headed straight for the training room door.

 

 "Where were you, Spike?" Buffy asked again, her voice low and threatening.  She was still pinning him against the wall with her body, so close that he could not move, and with her left hand she held his wrist against the wall above his head. 

 

He was shaking, sobbing silently, but he would not say a word.  Wordlessly, Buffy turned the stake around in her free hand so that the larger, blunt end was toward his hand, immobilized against the unyielding brick wall behind it.  He knew what she intended; braced himself against the brutal blow that would crush his hand mercilessly.

 

"Last chance, Baby," Buffy whispered, so close that her lips brushed his ear. "Where. Were. You."

 

Still he did not reply.  With a cold-hearted shrug, Buffy pulled away and pulled back the stake to strike.  At that moment, the door to the training room flung open.  Instantly Buffy dropped her hold on his wrist, putting the stake back in her pocket, and turned to face the door with an expectant expression, looking for all the world like she had just been having a casual conversation.

 

Spike was considerably more shaken, but he stood up a little straighter and tried to gain his composure, because he knew she expected it of him.  Just a few minutes in her presence, and he was back to complete, helpless obedience to her every command.

 

Tara entered the training room, disheveled and distraught, tears streaming from her eyes.  Ignoring Spike completely, she headed straight for Buffy.

 

"Buffy," she sobbed. "Do you have time to talk?"

 

"Of course, Tara, what's the matter, Honey?" Buffy asked in a voice filled with warmth and concern, nothing like the icy menacing one she had used moments before.

 

"It's Will--I don't know what to do...I'm sorry to come to you like this and disturb you but I just have to talk to someone--"

 

"No problem, Sweetie, just a second," Buffy insisted, giving her a brief hug.  She turned back to Spike with a wide, cold smile on her lips.  Drawing intimidatingly close, she placed one hand firmly on the wall inches from his head, assuming a menacing stance.

 

"Look at me," she murmured, seeking out his eyes with hers.

 

Immediately he obeyed, drawing his own tearful, frightened gaze up to meet her eyes.

 

"You're gonna go back to your crypt.  You're gonna wait for me there. And then we're gonna finish this conversation. Right?"

 

He nodded quickly, desperately.

 

"Any questions?"

 

He shook his head, looking away again, unable to hold her gaze for long.

 

"Good," Buffy said, bringing one hand up to touch his face in a caress that was meant to be subtly threatening.  He flinched, and she smiled. "Go on," she ordered softly with a slight nod of her head toward the back door.

 

Without so much as a glance at Tara, he headed for the door.

 

_Spike._

 

No response.

 

_Spike!_

 

There was a long pause, before the soft response came, just as the door closed behind him, _Yeah._

_Go to my apartment.  She still can't find you there. I'm gonna stall her for a while and then I'll meet you there. Ok?_

 

No response.

 

Tara found this deeply unsettling.  Even as she started pouring out her story to Buffy, putting her college drama classes to good use, she urgently tried again.

 

_Spike? Ok?_

 

Still no response.  That was when she knew that he was going to go back to his crypt, as Buffy had ordered, to wait for her to come there and beat him again, possibly kill him--like a good broken little slave.  A surge of anger flowing through her, Tara somehow managed to keep up her act with Buffy, even as her mind raced ahead with a firm determination.

 

_Not if I can help it!_


	8. Chapter 8

Tara's mind raced, trying to think of what to do, as she listened to Buffy's well-intentioned advice on her non-existent problem.  She did not have her car, and there was no way that she could beat Buffy to Spike's crypt on foot.  She had to find a way to put off Buffy's return to Spike's crypt that would not require her to personally keep her here.  She had to somehow get to the crypt and make him see reason before Buffy arrived.

 

Tara felt her heart sing with relief when a loud crash of breaking glass sounded from the other room, and suddenly the training room door burst open.  The timing could not have been more perfect.

 

"Buffy! Quick! I have burglars!" Anya announced, wide-eyed, gesturing wildly for Buffy to come. Anya said "I have burglars" like someone might have said, "I have chicken pox".

 

"With the lights on and you in plain sight?" Buffy was incredulous at the nerve of Sunnydale's criminal element.

 

Anya rolled her eyes as if it should have been obvious. " _Demon_ burglars, Buffy! They broke my windows and they're taking my merchandise!"

 

Tara thought absently that it seemed an oddly brazen, not to mention mundane, act for demons.  But her main focus was the realization that here was the distraction she needed.

 

Buffy turned to her quickly and said, "Tara, go on and go home.  We can finish this later.  You don't wanna be here, just in case it gets dangerous."

 

Tara nodded obediently and hurried out the back door to the training room.  Once in the street, she took off at a dead run for the cemetery and Spike's crypt.

 

 Without her usual regard for propriety, Tara slammed the door open and rushed inside, looking around.  No Spike; must be downstairs.  She hurried to the ladder and rushed down, turning quickly.

 

She stopped short, her breath caught in her throat, at the sight of him.  He sat straight and still on the edge of his bed, and judging by his panicked, desperate eyes, he had expected someone else to appear at the bottom of the ladder.  Just waiting--just as Buffy had commanded.  When he saw it was her, he looked surprised--then guilty.

 

Looking away, staring at the floor to his right.  "Heard you come in...thought it was her," he explained unnecessarily.

 

"I would have knocked and waited, but I'm trying to save your life, here!" Tara retorted, and her voice held a bit more of an edge than she had intended, she realized when he flinched.

 

"Not worth it, love," he said, his voice low, despairing.

 

She suddenly could not say another word; her throat seemed to be blocked.  She felt the hot pin-prick of tears in her eyes and then she had reached him and her arms were around him.

 

He turned his head back toward her, closing his eyes, clinging desperately to the arm she had wrapped around his shoulders, and she heard and felt him taking in several short gasping breaths.  He was trying hard not to break down; as much as she felt it would do him good, she could not help but agree with the sentiment at the moment.

 

Safety in her apartment now; emotional breakthroughs later.

 

"Come on," she whispered, pulling away with an effort.  "I don't know how much time we have.  We have to get out of here, now!"

 

He shook his head, still looking at the floor.  "It's no use, love.  She'll still find me.  Might as well face the music now."

 

Crouching down so that she was on eye-level to him, she placed a gentle hand on his already-bruising cheek.  He flinched away from her touch, but her hand followed the motion and turned him back to face her.  Looking him in the eye, she said, "Listen to me.  We talked about this.  Remember?" 

 

He tried to look away but her hand held him, gently but firmly, forcing him to meet her eyes.

 

"She can't hurt you at my apartment.  We'll figure this out, ok?  We're gonna find a way to get our own Buffy back.  But if you stay here tonight, she may kill you, Sweetheart.  Just come with me."

 

Finally his terror-filled eyes focused on her with an intensity so strong that now she was the one who tried not to break his gaze.  "You don't understand..." he rasped in a voice ragged with fear and anguish.

 

"Yes, I do," she replied, her voice soft but loaded with meaning beyond the three words.  "I have been where you are now, Spike.  And I can tell you that the only way is to _get away_ from her.  Come with me."

 

"No."  With the simple refusal he pulled away from her grasp, and she let him go.

 

Frustration building, she took a step back, straightened up and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Fine. I'll stay too."

 

He looked back up at her in alarm. When he spoke it was slowly, over-exaggerated, as if she were a not-particularly-bright child.  "No...you need to go.  The state she's in, she'll kill anything in her path.  Get out of here, love, while you can."

 

With a stubborn tilt to her chin, Tara shook her head. "I'm not leaving here without you, Spike."

 

His own frustration was obviously mounting as he stood up, assuming the most threatening position he could under the circumstances, drawing close to her.  "You'll get out," he stated in the low, rumbling-thunder tones of the Big Bad he had once been, sending a strange little tremor-thrill through her. "Or I'll put you out, love."

 

Tara could not help but laugh.  "Try it," she said, her tone only slightly taunting. "I'm not going anywhere."

 

His eyes widened in shock, and he shook his head a little.  Of course he had been bluffing; they both knew he wouldn't lay a hand on her. Still he seemed unable to believe that she was still there; that she hadn't left, when faced with his blatant rejection of her help.

 

His eyes welled with fresh tears, and he suddenly seemed unsteady on his feet; so much smaller than the menacing pose he had just attempted to strike. 

 

She reached out and caught him in her arms just before he collapsed, and the two of them went down to their knees together.  She rocked him gently for a few moments, cradling his head against her breast, repeating in a soothing whisper, "I'm not going anywhere...not going anywhere, Spike."  She held him close for just a little while, before gently taking his arms and pulling him away from her.

 

"We have to get out of here, she'll be here any minute, Honey."

 

This time, he nodded quickly, sniffling, wiping a hand across his eyes. "Right, then," he whispered, letting out a soft, shuddering breath.  "Let's go, love."

 

 Half an hour later, they were safely locked into Tara's apartment, in her bedroom with that door locked as well.  It was relatively pointless, as they were the only ones in the house, but Tara was intent on making Spike feel as safe and secure as possible, and even the smallest of gestures could help.

 

He was sitting on the bed, and she was sitting behind him, gently ministering to his latest injuries.  Buffy had only gotten in a few blows, but she had been enraged, and they had been vicious ones, with the full force of her Slayer-strength behind them.  The first blow had bruised the left side of his face and split his lip, at the same time giving him a nasty swollen bump and a bleeding scrape on the back of his head where it had been slammed into the brick wall of the Magic Box.

 

It was this wound that concerned Tara the most.  Frowning in concentration, trying not to hurt him, she gently blotted the wound with a gauze pad soaked in an antiseptic.

 

It hurt like hell, and he winced, but made no complaint.  Upon reaching the apartment, he had become quiet, contrite.  It was unspoken but acknowledged between them that if he had not gone to the Magic Box it would not have happened.  Therefore he did not feel that he had the right to complain if her attempts to help him caused him some pain.  It was only his due, he supposed, for being a bleedin idiot and all but throwing himself at Buffy's feet.

 

When his thoughts went down this track, he turned his head slightly toward her, his eyes downcast. "I--I'm sor--"

 

"Shhh," she whispered, shaking her head and gently turning his head back with her hand so that she could resume her work.  "Don't even think about that."  Her voice was gentle, soothing, without a trace of blame, and it made him feel better.

 

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, before his voice broke it again, softly, "Who was she?"

 

"Hmm?" Tara was distracted by her efforts, and not sure who he was talking about.

 

"In my crypt...you said you'd been here...the girl what hurt you...who was she?" he asked, his voice hesitant and halting, as if he knew he was quite possibly encroaching on private territory, but couldn't quite help himself.

 

Tara was silent for a moment...just long enough for him to decide that he had once again bollixed everything up...should never have asked such a personal question...

 

"Wasn't a girl," she finally replied, her voice calm and even.  "When I was 17, I was with this guy..."

 

"You were with a guy?" he echoed, incredulous...and a little hopeful, Tara could not help but notice.  She also could not help but notice that the hopeful note in his voice sent a little thrill through her as well.

 

She smiled at his surprise.  "Yes...several actually."  Her smile faded.  "Each one a bigger control freak than the last.  I think I attracted them because I'm so..." she hesitated over the word, then decided, "weak," as she finished with the bandage on his head.

 

Immediately Spike shook his head, "Not weak," he countered, his voice low and soft as he turned in one fluid motion to face her, his eyes capturing hers, as hypnotic as blue flame. "Never weak.  Quiet, maybe.  Gentle." _Bloody perfect_. "Never weak."

 

Tara smiled at his openness, and turned his face slightly so that she could go to work on his split lip.  Focusing her attention on it, she could face him without having to meet his eyes as she continued her story.

 

"Well, something about me attracts that type," Tara shrugged, trying to stay casual.  "I've gotten my share of beatings from abusive lovers, I'll tell you that, Sweetie," she said softly, meeting his eyes.  "It's a pattern.  You find yourself in the same trap again and again.  Different relationship, but the same situation.  And in the end, you just have to leave.  Because letting them do it and staying is the same as saying it's ok."

 

He looked down at the blanket, but he nodded slightly, thoughtfully.  _Angelus...Drusilla...Buffy..._

 

"If they'll let you go," he whispered finally, his voice thick with emotion.

 

"Sometimes it's hard," Tara conceded.  "Will's not willing to let me go."

 

He smiled a secret smile to himself. _No, he's not._ But then the implication of her words struck him, and he looked up at her sharply.

 

"Willow? She didn't....did she...?"

 

Tara's mouth was working as if she was not sure what she wanted to say.  Finally, her words, slow, even, and careful, she said, "Willow never hit me...never hurt me...physically.  But she still...well...we had this fight...I thought she was doing too much magic..."

 

"She is," Spike pointed out with a dark look.

 

Tara nodded. "I know.  Well, she didn't want to fight anymore...so instead of talking it out...asking me to forgive her... instead she did a spell...she made me forget we had the fight."

 

He was silent, watching her, waiting for her to go on.  He could imagine the violation that such a thing would be, if he couldn't fully understand.

 

"I told her...it felt like...like being raped," Tara whispered, shocking him with the intensity of her words and tone.  "Like she just reached into me and ripped out something that wasn't hers to take.  And what's worse...I told her how I felt...I told her what it was to me...and she did it again."

 

She paused, taking a deep breath, and laid down the last of the bandages, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

 

Tentative, wanting to do or say something to comfort her, but still not sure where the boundaries were, what was allowed, he gently reached out a hand and simply placed it on her arm supportively.

 

She smiled reassuringly at him and went on, "It's like... she wanted to force the resolution...the forgiveness... I would have given it to her... if she'd asked I would have forgiven her.  God, I _loved_ her!  But she didn't give me a choice; she forcibly took it from me, like all that mattered was her needs and I was nothing to her but the thing that met those needs.  And when I told her and she did it again...she didn't care that she'd hurt me, it didn't matter to her..."  Her voice broke off and she frowned at him.  "Spike?" she said softly. "Are you all right?"

 

His face had gone paler than usual, and his eyes were focused not on the quilt, but some point beneath it, seeing, hearing, events past.  He was trembling visibly, and she saw a small, darkened circle where a tear hit the bedspread.

 

"Spike?" she whispered, pulling him gently into her arms.  "What is it, Honey?"

 

He allowed her to hold him, putting his head on her shoulder and sobbing softly, finally crying openly in front of her.  Tara was alarmed; what had she said or done to bring about this breakdown?

 

"Sweetie, what?" she murmured, pulling him away just a little so she could look in his eyes with her own full of concern.  "Is there something--"

 

He shook his head, gazing up at her through tear-filled eyes.  "No...please, Tara...I c-can't...don't....just...just..."

 

Understanding what he couldn't put into words, she pulled his head back down on her shoulder and just held him, whispering comforting shushing sounds and gentle words, just allowing him to let his tears flow, washing healing over wounds too deep to put into words.


	9. Chapter 9

When Tara opened her eyes in the morning, she had a brief moment of confusion; she didn't remember going to bed.  Wait...she thought, feeling an oddly comfortable weight across her chest and stomach.  Looking down at the vampire sleeping with his head on her chest, she smiled softly.  That was because she _hadn't_ gone to bed.  Not really.

 

 

 

She thought back on the night before, and Spike's inevitable emotional breakdown.  She had held him for a long time while he cried it out, doing her best to comfort him.  Eventually his tears had ebbed, and she had tried to get him to tell her what exactly had brought them on.  He just clung to her, not willing to raise his face to meet her concerned scrutiny, or to answer her question.  So she did not push him, just held him, reassuring him with her words and her touch that he was safe now, that no one could hurt him, that she was there for him.

 

 

 

At some point her back had tired and she had lain back on the pillows, pulling him down with her.  When her voice had tired, she had just continued to hold him, one arm around him where he lay across her chest, and the other gently toying with his loose golden curls.

 

 

 

She frowned slightly in contemplation at the broken, vulnerable, _beautiful_ creature before her, and again began unconsciously running her fingers through his hair.  He stirred slightly under her touch, nestling into it in his sleep.  Was it normal for him to sleep as much as he did? she wondered.  She wondered if vampires developed coping mechanisms for trauma the way humans did.  If so, that was possibly what it was.

 

 

 

Her thoughts turned again to their conversation the night before, and his reaction.  When she had gone back in her mind to try to find some reason for his deep emotional response in what she had been saying, the only thing she could really latch onto was the bit about being treated like a thing.  Hadn't he said something about that, that first night when she had come to help him in his crypt?  About being nothing but Buffy's plaything?

 

 

 

She sighed, troubled, looking down at him again.  Had anyone besides her _ever_ treated him as anything more than a thing? she wondered. Certainly none of the Scoobies...well... maybe Dawn. She remembered that terrible summer of Buffy's death, and how close Dawn and Spike had gotten. 

 

 

 

She thought wistfully that it might be good for Spike to be able to see Dawn again.  As much as she wanted to help him, it could not be healthy for him to become dependent on her alone for companionship and affection.  But no, she reminded herself.  Letting Dawn in on the situation was too dangerous.  As much as she sometimes seemed otherwise, Dawn was still little more than a child, and Tara was unwilling to trust Spike's life to her ability to keep a secret.  Not to mention the doubly-troubling thought of what knowing what Buffy had been doing to her friend would do to the girl. 

 

 

 

Things were complicated enough for her without throwing in, "Oh, yeah, Dawnie...by the way your big sister has been screwing and beating your best friend."

 

 

 

Glancing at the clock, Tara sighed.  It was time to go and face the working world.  Gently she shook Spike, wanting to be sure he was ok before she left.

 

 

 

"Spike...Sweetie...wake up," she murmured, and he slowly, sleepily, raised his head.

 

 

 

"Mornin', love," he mumbled, laying his head back down.

 

 

 

"I've gotta get up and go to work, Honey, you're gonna have to find another pillow ok?" she chuckled softly, gently pushing him off of her.

 

 

 

"'K," he whispered, almost asleep again already.  Gently she pushed him over so that he was on his back, with his head on the pillow, and tenderly tucked the blankets around him.

 

 

 

"Listen to me for a second, ok?" Tara softly said, bestowing a gentle caress on his cheek.

 

 

 

He opened his eyes and looked at her, saying nothing.  The expression in his eyes was wary, tentative; she knew he was worried about the night before.  She could read the questions in those fathomless blue depths...had he crossed a line? Had his emotional outburst been more than she was willing to deal with?

 

 

 

Needing to reassure him, she smiled warmly at him and said, "I'm going to work and then after I'm gonna stop by your crypt and pick up some of your things.  OK?"

 

 

 

He nodded, visibly relaxing.

 

 

 

"Please stay here today.  OK?" Tara made it a request, not an order. Even with his life at stake, and the very real fear in her that he might decide again to go back to Buffy, she could not let him think of her as another controlling, authoritative person holding his life in her hand, turning it whatever way she chose. It had to be his decision; all she could do was try to ensure he made the right one.

 

 

 

He nodded slowly, after a pause, his eyes never leaving hers.

 

 

 

"Promise?" she pushed just a little.

 

 

 

His hesitation made her glad that she had, but then he nodded again, and she read the promise in his eyes.  He would keep his word to her.

 

  

 

The first thing Tara noticed when she reached his crypt that afternoon was that the door was wide open.

 

 

 

Buffy.  She had been there at some point last night, and Tara guessed darkly that she had probably been extremely displeased to find it empty.  She walked through the door, and stopped short, surveying the scene around her.

 

 

 

Utter and complete chaos and destruction.  What meager furniture Spike had managed to collect was totally trashed, broken pieces scattered about the upper level of the crypt.  The refrigerator door had been ripped right off its hinges and flung twenty feet from the appliance itself, and in a macabre display that made Tara feel sick, his stock of bagged blood had been emptied and formed a sticky, congealed puddle near the base of the fridge.

 

 

 

Tearing her eyes away from the gruesome sight, Tara forced herself to descend the ladder to the lower level of the crypt, almost afraid of what she'd find.

 

 

 

But she would never have expected what she did find.  The huge bed which took up most of the room was in pieces; from the look of it, Buffy had taken an axe to it.  She shuddered, relieved that she had gotten Spike out of there before Buffy arrived.  But what arrested Tara's attention was the small, huddled, trembling figure curled into a ball amidst the broken pieces.

 

 

 

Dawn.

 

 

 

"Oh, God, Dawnie!" Tara gasped, rushing to take the trembling girl in her arms.

 

 

 

But Dawn pushed her back as she sat up, meeting Tara's gaze with wide, shell-shocked brown eyes.  Wordlessly she held out a sheet of paper to Tara.  With a sense of dread, Tara unfolded the paper and read it.

 

 

 

_Spike--_

 

 

_I'll be back tomorrow night and you had BETTER be here!_

 

 

 

The note was not signed, but Tara knew who had written it before Dawn's shaking voice spoke, "It's Buffy's writing."

 

 

 

Tara was at a loss for words; what could she say to help Dawn understand what was going on?  Her anger at Buffy rose as she thought of this poor child, walking in here expecting to see her friend and instead finding his home ravaged and destroyed, and the terrible shock she must have had on realizing that it was the work of her sister.  She grimaced with the memory of the sickening pool of blood on the floor upstairs.

 

 

 

So much for protecting Dawn, Tara thought ruefully.

 

 

 

She tentatively reached out to Dawn again, and this time she let her hug her.  "Oh, Dawnie," she whispered, the ache in her heart showing through in her voice.

 

 

 

It must have spoken of her knowledge, because Dawn pulled away a little, searching her eyes, some of that fire in her own that Tara knew so well.

 

 

 

"Did Buffy really do this, Tara?  Did she...?"

 

 

 

Tara met Dawn's eyes and decided on honesty.  Dawn had seen enough to deserve the truth.  She nodded slowly.

 

 

 

"She...she wants to hurt him...doesn't she?" Dawn said, looking around the room again.  "Why?"

 

 

 

"I don't know, Dawnie," Tara's answer was truthful, as she sadly shrugged her shoulders.  "It's complicated."

 

 

 

Dawn looked back at her with resentment in her eyes.  "Yeah, _relationships_ are always complicated aren't they?" she shot back, a challenge.

 

 

 

Tara could not keep the surprise from her expression; so Dawn had known about Spike and Buffy's relationship...for how long?

 

 

 

"I'm not stupid, you know.  But I guess it's still just too complicated for me to understand..."

 

 

 

"Too complicated for _me_ to understand," Tara clarified. "Too complicated for Spike or Buffy to understand too."

 

 

 

"Do you think...you don't think....she..." There was fear in Dawn's eyes now as she looked up at Tara anxiously through tear-filled eyes, again changed from the eyes of a righteously indignant woman to those of a frightened child.  "Where do you think he is? Do you think he's all right?"

 

 

 

Dawn had no way of knowing that Tara had the answers she was seeking; she was just a scared little girl, looking for reassurance.  And Tara could not withhold it from her.

 

 

 

She nodded again, not breaking Dawn's gaze.  "He's safe, Dawn.  He's all right."

 

 

 

Realization rose in Dawn's expression, with just the hint of a smile about her lips in her relief.  "So these past few days...he hasn't been around...I was kinda scared...he's always there, ya know?"  Tara nodded.  "He's been hiding?" Dawn continued, her eyes widening again in disbelief, still trying to wrap her mind around the situation.  Shaking her head a little, looking off to the side, she finished in a whisper, "From _Buffy_?  Buffy would hurt him _that bad_?"

 

 

 

Tara didn't have to say anything, just held the girl and let her talk it out, working it out in her head as she did.

 

 

 

"Of course she would," Dawn suddenly answered her own question, her words coming slow and quiet with new understanding.  There was a bitter twinge in them when she continued, "She did before, didn't she?  All those times he said he got hurt patrolling...it was her...wasn't it?"

 

 

 

This time her eyes demanded confirmation of the ugly truth she did not want to accept.  Tara nodded again.

 

 

 

"Where is he?" Dawn asked urgently.

 

 

 

"Someplace safe, Dawn.  It's probably better if you don't know, Sweetie.  That way there's no chance that Buffy could..."

 

 

 

"There's no chance," Dawn said emphatically, anger rising in her tone.  "If I ever speak to Buffy again she'll be lucky!"

 

 

 

Suddenly concerned, Tara broke in, "No! No, Dawnie, see, that's the thing! You have to act normal with Buffy!  If she knows that you know anything about this, she won't quit until she finds him!  And Dawn...Sweetie...if she finds him..."

 

 

 

She didn't have to finish.  Dawn was already nodding slowly in understanding.  "Ok. I won't let on.  Shouldn't be too hard," she snorted.  "I never even see her anymore, she's always working, or slaying, or...or... beating the crap out of my best friend...or screwing his brains out, whichever mood she happens to be in!" The words were spat out with such venom that Tara flinched.

 

 

 

Dawn must have seen the concern in Tara's eyes, because she sighed.  "Don't worry, Tara.  I won't let on.  I'm a pretty good liar when I need to be."  Another challenge in dark eyes that had seen too much of pain and confusion that day.  "I want to see him, Tara."  The words were emphatic, more so when accompanied by the cross of her arms across her chest.

 

 

 

Tara regarded her evenly for a moment, searching her eyes.  Dawn already knew enough to be a threat, if she chose to be careless with that knowledge.  And somehow, Tara did not think that she would.  And it would mean so much to Spike...

 

 

 

"Ok," Tara decided with a nod.  "Ask Buffy if you can stay the night with me tonight.  I think a little slumber party might do us _all_ good."


	10. Chapter 10

When Tara opened her eyes in the morning, she had a brief moment of confusion; she didn't remember going to bed.  Wait...she thought, feeling an oddly comfortable weight across her chest and stomach.  Looking down at the vampire sleeping with his head on her chest, she smiled softly.  That was because she _hadn't_ gone to bed.  Not really.

 

 

 

She thought back on the night before, and Spike's inevitable emotional breakdown.  She had held him for a long time while he cried it out, doing her best to comfort him.  Eventually his tears had ebbed, and she had tried to get him to tell her what exactly had brought them on.  He just clung to her, not willing to raise his face to meet her concerned scrutiny, or to answer her question.  So she did not push him, just held him, reassuring him with her words and her touch that he was safe now, that no one could hurt him, that she was there for him.

 

 

 

At some point her back had tired and she had lain back on the pillows, pulling him down with her.  When her voice had tired, she had just continued to hold him, one arm around him where he lay across her chest, and the other gently toying with his loose golden curls.

 

 

 

She frowned slightly in contemplation at the broken, vulnerable, _beautiful_ creature before her, and again began unconsciously running her fingers through his hair.  He stirred slightly under her touch, nestling into it in his sleep.  Was it normal for him to sleep as much as he did? she wondered.  She wondered if vampires developed coping mechanisms for trauma the way humans did.  If so, that was possibly what it was.

 

 

 

Her thoughts turned again to their conversation the night before, and his reaction.  When she had gone back in her mind to try to find some reason for his deep emotional response in what she had been saying, the only thing she could really latch onto was the bit about being treated like a thing.  Hadn't he said something about that, that first night when she had come to help him in his crypt?  About being nothing but Buffy's plaything?

 

 

 

She sighed, troubled, looking down at him again.  Had anyone besides her _ever_ treated him as anything more than a thing? she wondered. Certainly none of the Scoobies...well... maybe Dawn. She remembered that terrible summer of Buffy's death, and how close Dawn and Spike had gotten. 

 

 

 

She thought wistfully that it might be good for Spike to be able to see Dawn again.  As much as she wanted to help him, it could not be healthy for him to become dependent on her alone for companionship and affection.  But no, she reminded herself.  Letting Dawn in on the situation was too dangerous.  As much as she sometimes seemed otherwise, Dawn was still little more than a child, and Tara was unwilling to trust Spike's life to her ability to keep a secret.  Not to mention the doubly-troubling thought of what knowing what Buffy had been doing to her friend would do to the girl. 

 

 

 

Things were complicated enough for her without throwing in, "Oh, yeah, Dawnie...by the way your big sister has been screwing and beating your best friend."

 

 

 

Glancing at the clock, Tara sighed.  It was time to go and face the working world.  Gently she shook Spike, wanting to be sure he was ok before she left.

 

 

 

"Spike...Sweetie...wake up," she murmured, and he slowly, sleepily, raised his head.

 

 

 

"Mornin', love," he mumbled, laying his head back down.

 

 

 

"I've gotta get up and go to work, Honey, you're gonna have to find another pillow ok?" she chuckled softly, gently pushing him off of her.

 

 

 

"'K," he whispered, almost asleep again already.  Gently she pushed him over so that he was on his back, with his head on the pillow, and tenderly tucked the blankets around him.

 

 

 

"Listen to me for a second, ok?" Tara softly said, bestowing a gentle caress on his cheek.

 

 

 

He opened his eyes and looked at her, saying nothing.  The expression in his eyes was wary, tentative; she knew he was worried about the night before.  She could read the questions in those fathomless blue depths...had he crossed a line? Had his emotional outburst been more than she was willing to deal with?

 

 

 

Needing to reassure him, she smiled warmly at him and said, "I'm going to work and then after I'm gonna stop by your crypt and pick up some of your things.  OK?"

 

 

 

He nodded, visibly relaxing.

 

 

 

"Please stay here today.  OK?" Tara made it a request, not an order. Even with his life at stake, and the very real fear in her that he might decide again to go back to Buffy, she could not let him think of her as another controlling, authoritative person holding his life in her hand, turning it whatever way she chose. It had to be his decision; all she could do was try to ensure he made the right one.

 

 

 

He nodded slowly, after a pause, his eyes never leaving hers.

 

 

 

"Promise?" she pushed just a little.

 

 

 

His hesitation made her glad that she had, but then he nodded again, and she read the promise in his eyes.  He would keep his word to her.

 

  

 

The first thing Tara noticed when she reached his crypt that afternoon was that the door was wide open.

 

 

 

Buffy.  She had been there at some point last night, and Tara guessed darkly that she had probably been extremely displeased to find it empty.  She walked through the door, and stopped short, surveying the scene around her.

 

 

 

Utter and complete chaos and destruction.  What meager furniture Spike had managed to collect was totally trashed, broken pieces scattered about the upper level of the crypt.  The refrigerator door had been ripped right off its hinges and flung twenty feet from the appliance itself, and in a macabre display that made Tara feel sick, his stock of bagged blood had been emptied and formed a sticky, congealed puddle near the base of the fridge.

 

 

 

Tearing her eyes away from the gruesome sight, Tara forced herself to descend the ladder to the lower level of the crypt, almost afraid of what she'd find.

 

 

 

But she would never have expected what she did find.  The huge bed which took up most of the room was in pieces; from the look of it, Buffy had taken an axe to it.  She shuddered, relieved that she had gotten Spike out of there before Buffy arrived.  But what arrested Tara's attention was the small, huddled, trembling figure curled into a ball amidst the broken pieces.

 

 

 

Dawn.

 

 

 

"Oh, God, Dawnie!" Tara gasped, rushing to take the trembling girl in her arms.

 

 

 

But Dawn pushed her back as she sat up, meeting Tara's gaze with wide, shell-shocked brown eyes.  Wordlessly she held out a sheet of paper to Tara.  With a sense of dread, Tara unfolded the paper and read it.

 

 

 

_Spike--_

 

 

_I'll be back tomorrow night and you had BETTER be here!_

 

 

 

The note was not signed, but Tara knew who had written it before Dawn's shaking voice spoke, "It's Buffy's writing."

 

 

 

Tara was at a loss for words; what could she say to help Dawn understand what was going on?  Her anger at Buffy rose as she thought of this poor child, walking in here expecting to see her friend and instead finding his home ravaged and destroyed, and the terrible shock she must have had on realizing that it was the work of her sister.  She grimaced with the memory of the sickening pool of blood on the floor upstairs.

 

 

 

So much for protecting Dawn, Tara thought ruefully.

 

 

 

She tentatively reached out to Dawn again, and this time she let her hug her.  "Oh, Dawnie," she whispered, the ache in her heart showing through in her voice.

 

 

 

It must have spoken of her knowledge, because Dawn pulled away a little, searching her eyes, some of that fire in her own that Tara knew so well.

 

 

 

"Did Buffy really do this, Tara?  Did she...?"

 

 

 

Tara met Dawn's eyes and decided on honesty.  Dawn had seen enough to deserve the truth.  She nodded slowly.

 

 

 

"She...she wants to hurt him...doesn't she?" Dawn said, looking around the room again.  "Why?"

 

 

 

"I don't know, Dawnie," Tara's answer was truthful, as she sadly shrugged her shoulders.  "It's complicated."

 

 

 

Dawn looked back at her with resentment in her eyes.  "Yeah, _relationships_ are always complicated aren't they?" she shot back, a challenge.

 

 

 

Tara could not keep the surprise from her expression; so Dawn had known about Spike and Buffy's relationship...for how long?

 

 

 

"I'm not stupid, you know.  But I guess it's still just too complicated for me to understand..."

 

 

 

"Too complicated for _me_ to understand," Tara clarified. "Too complicated for Spike or Buffy to understand too."

 

 

 

"Do you think...you don't think....she..." There was fear in Dawn's eyes now as she looked up at Tara anxiously through tear-filled eyes, again changed from the eyes of a righteously indignant woman to those of a frightened child.  "Where do you think he is? Do you think he's all right?"

 

 

 

Dawn had no way of knowing that Tara had the answers she was seeking; she was just a scared little girl, looking for reassurance.  And Tara could not withhold it from her.

 

 

 

She nodded again, not breaking Dawn's gaze.  "He's safe, Dawn.  He's all right."

 

 

 

Realization rose in Dawn's expression, with just the hint of a smile about her lips in her relief.  "So these past few days...he hasn't been around...I was kinda scared...he's always there, ya know?"  Tara nodded.  "He's been hiding?" Dawn continued, her eyes widening again in disbelief, still trying to wrap her mind around the situation.  Shaking her head a little, looking off to the side, she finished in a whisper, "From _Buffy_?  Buffy would hurt him _that bad_?"

 

 

 

Tara didn't have to say anything, just held the girl and let her talk it out, working it out in her head as she did.

 

 

 

"Of course she would," Dawn suddenly answered her own question, her words coming slow and quiet with new understanding.  There was a bitter twinge in them when she continued, "She did before, didn't she?  All those times he said he got hurt patrolling...it was her...wasn't it?"

 

 

 

This time her eyes demanded confirmation of the ugly truth she did not want to accept.  Tara nodded again.

 

 

 

"Where is he?" Dawn asked urgently.

 

 

 

"Someplace safe, Dawn.  It's probably better if you don't know, Sweetie.  That way there's no chance that Buffy could..."

 

 

 

"There's no chance," Dawn said emphatically, anger rising in her tone.  "If I ever speak to Buffy again she'll be lucky!"

 

 

 

Suddenly concerned, Tara broke in, "No! No, Dawnie, see, that's the thing! You have to act normal with Buffy!  If she knows that you know anything about this, she won't quit until she finds him!  And Dawn...Sweetie...if she finds him..."

 

 

 

She didn't have to finish.  Dawn was already nodding slowly in understanding.  "Ok. I won't let on.  Shouldn't be too hard," she snorted.  "I never even see her anymore, she's always working, or slaying, or...or... beating the crap out of my best friend...or screwing his brains out, whichever mood she happens to be in!" The words were spat out with such venom that Tara flinched.

 

 

 

Dawn must have seen the concern in Tara's eyes, because she sighed.  "Don't worry, Tara.  I won't let on.  I'm a pretty good liar when I need to be."  Another challenge in dark eyes that had seen too much of pain and confusion that day.  "I want to see him, Tara."  The words were emphatic, more so when accompanied by the cross of her arms across her chest.

 

 

 

Tara regarded her evenly for a moment, searching her eyes.  Dawn already knew enough to be a threat, if she chose to be careless with that knowledge.  And somehow, Tara did not think that she would.  And it would mean so much to Spike...

 

 

 

"Ok," Tara decided with a nod.  "Ask Buffy if you can stay the night with me tonight.  I think a little slumber party might do us _all_ good."


	11. Chapter 11

"No!  Absolutely bloody not!" Spike's voice was nearly a shout as he cut off Tara's soft explanations.  "I will not have her coming here, seeing me lookin like a soddin victim, knowing it was her own bloody sister what done it!"  Angry fire flashing in his eyes, blue flames once more, he whirled around to turn his back on her, shooting vicious looks at her various knick-knacks arranged around the room, obviously wishing that they were his to take up and smash against the walls.

 

"Spike," Tara tried again softly, taking a step toward him, reaching to touch his shoulder, only to have him vehemently shake her hand away.  Actually, though, she was relieved to see a bit of his old temper showing up at last. It was the closest she had seen him come to expressing any anger toward Buffy for what she had done; in spite of everything, his emotions toward her still seemed to be centered around fear, and a desire to help her.   "She's seen you a lot worse than this.  You think she's a child but she's not blind.  She--she knew about you and Buffy, and no one said a word to her."

 

At that he turned around, guarded surprise in his eyes.  "She did? Bout which part exactly?"

 

"She knew that you two had some kind of secret relationship going," Tara clarified.  "And it hurt her that both of you kept it from her."

 

He looked down guiltily. "Wasn't my choice, pet."

 

"I know."

 

There was a brief pause; he looked defeated, the anger that had fueled his rant deflated by his guilt over hurting Dawn.

 

Tara took the opportunity to proceed, albeit gently.  “Think about what she’s just been through.  She just found out an awful lot she’d probably rather not know about her sister, in a very traumatic way.  She probably doesn’t feel like she’s got a lot to lean on right now…and I’m sure she wants to be with her best friend.”

 

Spike looked up, a rare sparkle in his eyes. “She said that, did she? I’m her best friend?”

 

Tara smiled; it was endearing that the child-like title being bestowed on him obviously meant so much to him.  She nodded. “She did.”

 

Concerned now, he continued, “And she knows not to let on to Buffy that she knows anything?  I don’t think Buffy’s above hurting her to find out what she wants to know.”

 

After what she had found in his crypt, Tara did not think so, either.  “She knows.”

 

Spike’s sigh spoke of his defeat and Tara’s triumph, at least for now. “Right, then. Well, if it means that much to her…all right. Have her come on over then.” He allowed himself a small smile, as he admitted softly, “Can’t say it won’t be right nice to see the Niblet.”

  

Neither of them said a word from the time Tara picked Dawn up at home until they were climbing the stairs to her apartment.  Just down the hall from her door, Tara took Dawn’s arm and stopped walking.

 

“Now, Dawnie,” she said softly, her tone serious, her eyes sad, “You should know that last night…Buffy got to him again…we got away ok and all, and she still has no idea where he is…but he’s a little banged up…I just thought you should know before we go in there.”

 

Dawn gave her an impatient look as she replied, “Tara, how bad is it?  Cause I’ve seen him pretty bad.  I don’t think ‘a little banged up’ is going to be _too_ traumatic for me.”

 

“You’re right,” Tara conceded, realizing that the girl’s words were true; compared to some of the beatings Buffy had given Spike, the few blows she had managed to deliver the night before were nothing.

 

Tara unlocked the door and the girls walked into her apartment.  Spike was sitting on the loveseat, and stood up when they entered.  To a perceptive, psychically gifted person like Tara, it was pitifully obvious how hard he was trying for casual.  But the attempted smirk and swagger failed miserably; he ended up just standing there gazing at Dawn as if she were the most amazingly wonderful gift he had ever received.  “Bit,” he acknowledged, his voice low and thick with emotion.

 

Dawn stood there for a moment, staring at him, taking him in, the bruises and bandages, his expressive eyes and what she read there, the so-familiar form that she had missed so dearly.  Then she ran to him, hugging him fiercely.  “Oh, Spike, Spike!” she whispered against his chest, holding on to him as if she’d never let go.  “I missed you!”  Then she pulled away slightly and glared up at him, thumped him lightly on the chest and pouted, “Don’t you ever go into hiding and not tell me again!  I was scared out of my mind!  Jerk!”

 

“Just didn’t want you to get hurt, Bit,” he explained, running his fingers through her long, silky dark hair.

 

She glared at him a moment longer before letting it fade into a smile and leaning back against him, admitting, “I know.”  Her face suddenly serious, she reached a gentle hand up to lightly touch his bruised cheek. He pulled away, uncomfortable.

 

Frowning, anger beginning in her eyes again, she turned to Tara without letting go of Spike.  “You think I have any magical powers or anything left over from my key-ness?  Cause I _sooo_ wanna kick my sister’s butt for this!”

 

“You and me both, Sweetie,” Tara said, her tone and expression dark.

 

Noticeably absent was any similar comment from Spike.  He simply looked at the floor, uncomfortable with the discussion, unwilling still to express any desire to hurt Buffy.

 

Dawn’s frown became thoughtful, as she glanced between her two friends.  “You could, you know,” she pointed out, her eyes coming to rest on Tara.  “I mean, come on, Tara… you’re like, earth-power girl here…”

 

“No, I’m not so powerful, Dawn.  Willow’s the one with the power,” Tara grimaced at the thoughts that statement brought up.

 

Dawn was still thinking.  “Well, Willow could…”

 

“No!” Tara objected quickly. “For a million reasons, no. First off she can’t know about Spike being here and everything. She’s Buffy’s best friend, and she thinks like her.  There’s no way she would keep it from Buffy. And anyway, she doesn’t need to be doing any more magic.”

 

Dawn didn’t look convinced until Spike backed Tara up. “She’s right, Niblet. Willow’s not gonna keep anything from Buffy; leastwise not anything like this.”

 

“If she wasn’t the Slayer I could just kick her butt the old-fashioned way,” Dawn grumbled.

 

“If she wasn’t the Slayer, Spike could wipe up the floor with her,” Tara pointed out.

 

“Hate to break up the little Buffy-bash,” Spike interrupted, a smile of amusement crossing his face.  “But let’s not forget we want to _help_ her…get back _our_ Buffy…not kill her.”

 

Dawn frowned in confusion, not having heard this part of the plan.

 

“You’re right,” Tara sighed.  To Dawn she explained, “Buffy’s changed lately, Dawnie.  You have to have seen it.  She hasn’t always been this way.  We want to try and find some way to help her deal with whatever’s making her act this way.”

 

Dawn’s frown just deepened, and she suggested quite seriously, “Have either one of you considered the possibility that maybe she’s just a total bi…”  She stopped suddenly, eyes widening, realizing that both of these people saw her as a little sister and probably neither would appreciate the language coming from her.

 

But Spike burst out laughing, and Tara could not suppress a smile.

 

“Thought did occur to me,” Spike smirked.  “Round the time her soddin’ fist was smashing into my face.”

 

All three laughed, and Dawn hugged Spike again, contented.

 

“So I was thinking,” Tara began, changing the subject.  “Do you two wanna watch a movie or something tonight?  I mean, we have all night.”  When they agreed, she smiled and said, “I’ll go pick us up some food, and a movie or two; you two just hang out here and catch up. Ok?”

 

Spike flashed her a grateful smile as he led Dawn to the couch and sat down.  “Sounds like a plan, love,” he softly replied.

 

On her way to her bedroom, Tara returned his smile, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.  As soon as she had disappeared into her bedroom, Dawn looked at Spike and then toward her door pointedly, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.

 

Spike looked away, pretending not to understand, as Tara walked back out of her room, purse in hand, and toward the door, doling out more casual contact as she did, a light brush of her fingers against his back, Dawn noticed with growing interest.

 

The moment Tara had walked out the door, Dawn pounced. “Sooo,” she began, her tone teasing.  “You and Tara are getting awfully….close.” Her eyes were laughing, and a gentle smirk was on her lips.

 

“Just friends, pet,” Spike muttered, not meeting her eyes.

 

“I see…do you always blush when you talk about your friends?” Dawn asked innocently.

 

“What? No! I mean, I’m not!” Spike babbled, inevitably blushing even harder as he tried to argue.  Then he put his head in his hand with a sigh, “Oh bloody hell!”

 

Dawn laughed. “I knew it!”

 

“I know, I know, I’m a soddin’ idiot, Bit,” he sighed. “She leans more the other direction, not to mention she could do so much better…I don’t have a chance.”

 

Dawn frowned, surprised.  Feeling the need to support her friend, she scooted closer to him and leaned against him, as he put his arm around her. “Um, I know she’s gay and all…but…looks to me like she might forget it a little when she’s with you.”

 

He glanced sharply down at her. “What do you mean?”

 

“Spike…she’s always touching you…the way she looks at you…come on, don’t tell me you haven’t…you haven’t noticed,” she realized, shaking her head, incredulous. “Spike she’s totally into you.”

 

“Bit, she’s a warm, good-hearted woman, and what you’re seeing is bloody pity.  That’s all,” Spike said with self-disgust. “She feels sorry for the poor pathetic prat what got beat up by his bint and she’s too bloody good a person to put me out in the street.  But she’d never love me, pet.”

 

“Oh please Spike, give yourself a _little_ credit,” Dawn scoffed. “You are totally hot!”

 

He sputtered out a laugh in surprise at her blunt honesty, as she went on, “She couldn’t help but notice.  You shouldn’t be surprised if she likes you.”

 

“You’re saying I’m hot enough to turn a bloody lesbian straight?” It was his turn to look incredulous.  He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Lovely thought, that…would make for bloody good bragging rights…but I don’t think it’s more than a fantasy, love.”  The change in tone on the last statement indicated he was no longer talking about *a* lesbian in general, but Tara specifically.

 

“I guess we’ll see,” Dawn smiled.

  

When Tara entered her apartment about an hour later, she found them still on the loveseat, snuggled up together and talking softly. Dawn’s arm was comfortably across Spike’s waist, and he was idly playing with her hair.  The sight was warming and brought a smile to her face.

 

“I come bearing gifts,” she smiled, setting the large bag of Chinese takeout and two Blockbuster cases on the counter.

 

“We were just sitting here chattin, love,” Spike began. “bout what might have happened to Buffy…and we realized…it started when she came back.”

 

“Exactly when she came back,” Dawn nodded. “Like night and day. It’s like she’s a totally different person now.”

 

“So we were thinking…what if it’s something to do with the spell?”

 

Tara frowned thoughtfully. “Could be. Buffy wanted me to check it out before, to make sure she came back...normal...human...and she did...but that doesn't mean something else didn't go wrong with the spell. We’d have to find out a little more about it to know for sure. And Will’s the only one who knows exactly what went into that spell, for sure.  I could ask her if I could see it.”

 

“Good idea,” Dawn nodded, satisfied.

 

“Good,” Spike echoed with a sigh of relief.  “Maybe we can finally make some bloody progress here.”

 

Tara’s feelings mirrored his; she was ready to finally start working on their plan to help Buffy, instead of just trying to avoid her and ignoring the problem while it got steadily worse and worse.  Feeling relieved that they actually had a plan, she put a video in the recorder and settled down on Spike’s other side to enjoy the rest of the evening.


	12. Chapter 12

For the second morning in a row, Tara woke up still fully dressed, not having actually gone to bed the night before.  Having fallen asleep to the soft speech sounds coming from the TV, it was the stillness of the silence once the tape turned off that woke her.

 

She could feel a gentle hand resting on hers, tracing delicate patterns on her skin with slender graceful fingers.  She opened her eyes and looked sleepily beside her at Spike, noting with a glance past him that Dawn was asleep with her head in his lap.

 

The instant he realized that she was awake, he hastily pulled his hand away, placing it self-consciously on his own leg, blushing furiously, eyes focusing intently on the blank television screen.  Tara's mind raced as she took in the significance of what had just happened, a million thoughts running through her head at once. 

 

She had no idea yet what to do with her growing undeniable attraction to Spike.  Her heart was still wounded, and there was at least a part of it that was empty and Willow-shaped.  But she knew that Spike cared for her deeply already, and could not deny that she was developing feelings for him as well. 

 

She didn't want to lead him on when she wasn't quite sure yet what she wanted; all she knew at the moment was that his cool touch had made her feel warm and safe inside,  and she felt a profound disappointment at its loss.  And in a moment of clarity she realized how much stronger she had become since her break-up with Willow.

 

Before, she had been a frightened, insecure girl dependent on other's views of her for her self-esteem.  But something about making the decision to pull out of an unhealthy relationship, followed by the past couple weeks spent caring for someone more hurting, more vulnerable than herself, had birthed in her a new confidence.

 

 _For once in your life,_ _Tara_ _, just go with it,_ she told herself, feeling an exhileration run through her at the thought.  _Follow your heart and see where it takes you._

 

Not allowing herself to give it any more thought, she followed the dictates her heart was screaming at her and reached out impulsively to take his hand back.  His startled blue eyes were on hers instantly, but she just smiled casually, as if it were the most natural, comfortable thing in the world for the two of them to sit there holding hands like teenage lovers.

 

She could see the questions in his eyes; was this just more of Tara's unique brand of casual affection? or was it more?  As she did not know the answers herself, she chose not to attempt them.

 

_See where it takes you._

 

Glancing pointedly at Dawn, she smiled in a self-satisfied way and teased, "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" deliberately not acknowledging their interwoven fingers so as to make it seem less of an issue.

 

"No," he softly replied, his attention diverted from her hand in his, as a soft smile came over his face. "Bloody lovely, actually.  Can't tell you how much I've missed her."  As he spoke his free hand gently ran through the sleeping girl's tousled hair.

 

When his gaze returned to Tara, her breath caught in her throat at the expression in his eyes.  Gratitude, that same soft affection she had grown used to seeing there...but tonight there was something more... perhaps given courage by the move she had made, he was allowing his desire for her to show in his eyes, and all attempts at casual slowness flew out the window, as it ignited a fire deep inside her that made her feel dizzy, made her heart pound in anticipation.

 

She could barely keep up with her heart it was moving so fast.

 

Sensing her increased heart rate, misreading it as anxiety, Spike broke the intense eye contact, looking back toward the snowy screen.  Attempting to return to the topic they had been discussing, he said in a voice that was just slightly too loud, too forced of an attempt at normalcy, "Just wish it'd been different circumstances is all.  Hate that the bit had to see that."

 

He paused, and though his smile was sarcastic, there was a genuine thoughtful sadness in his voice as he added softly, "Guess I'm homeless now."

 

Suddenly, Tara knew what she wanted with a surety so intense it was like a blow.  Reaching up to turn his head to face her, she caught his gaze with smoldering, smoky grey eyes.  Her hand which now rested just at the nape of his neck gently pulled him closer, until their lips were mere inches apart.

 

"No. You're not," she whispered, a promise in her husky soft voice and in her smile.

 

His eyes widened with surprise, and he drew in a sharp, unnecessary breath.  He cautiously drew just a fraction nearer to her, almost completing the inevitable connection but hesitating, unsure.

 

Tara was sure. She moved the palm of her hand against the nape of his neck, gently stroking the soft hair there; her other arm stole softly around his waist, and pulled him slightly closer to her with a gentle urgency.  Her lips parted slightly, she closed the rest of the distance between them in a kiss that was tender but not at all tentative.

 

Spike was stunned to stillness, not moving or responding for a few moments as her lips moved gently against his. Was this really happening? Tara kissed him like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, but was asking for it, not taking it. When he felt the tip of her tongue in a feather-light caress against the line between his lips, he gave into his desire and finally kissed her back.

 

The sweet taste and delectable softness and heat of her mouth drove him wild with need for her, and his own arms wrapped around her, but did not stay still. Tactile as always, Spike's hands did not stop moving, running light touches over her back, shoulders, legs, leaving tingly electric trails on her skin everywhere he touched.

 

In her sleep, Dawn stirred.

 

Each jerked away from the other suddenly, horrified expressions on their faces.  Buffy would be justified in killing them both if Dawn woke up to find them making out with her practically in their laps...literally in Spike's.

 

"Bedroom?" Tara suggested breathlessly.

 

"Right," Spike nodded hurriedly, and with trembling hands he eased Dawn off of his lap and rose, gently moving her into a more comfortable sleeping position on the loveseat before following Tara into her room.

 

Quietly he closed the door and turned…directly into Tara’s waiting embrace.  As she pulled him close to her, feeling unable to get close enough, Tara’s lips urgently sought his as they clumsily made their way to the bed, already entangled in each other.

 

Her mouth was his refuge, his solace, and his heart sang poetry to her as he sank down onto the bed, pulling her down onto him.  He had so many things he wanted to say to her, but his lips were otherwise occupied.  Without even thinking about it, his mind reached out for hers.

 

_So incredible…you’re so…absolutely…bloody…gorgeous!_

_Oh, Spike! Oh I need you! Oh…oh…_ Rational thought fled from Tara as he flipped her over so that he was on top of her, and let his lips travel downward to her neck.

 

 _Beautiful…perfect…goddess…_ His stream-of-consciousness observations poured out as his hands and lips moved down her still-clothed body.

 

 _Oh…oh yes…_ was all Tara could think as she moaned aloud with pleasure, as Spike’s hands slipped under her shirt, and his mouth moved even lower.

 

 _You’re so gorgeous, love,_ Spike’s hand moved to raise her skirt as he went on.  _Incredible and perfect and glorious and mine!_

 

 _Oh God!_ Tara gasped for breath. _Spike…Spike…don’t stop!_ Her back arched and she buried her hands in his hair, raking her nails lightly across his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. _So…strong…so…oohhh...good!_

 

She was moments from her peak, and instinctively her hands clutched at the back of his head, holding him there, desperate for him to just…keep…going…

 

At that exact moment, two things happened.  Tara’s release came, but even as her body was shuddering in the wake of it, a wave of intense emotion…memories…images… assailed her mind from Spike’s.

 

The next instant, Spike yanked free of her hands, a panicked expression in his eyes.  But not before she saw enough to yank her from the throes of ecstasy, an expression of shock, horror, and sorrow in her eyes.  Because at last she understood. 

 

In an instant when he had pulled back slightly and felt the pressure of her hands on his head, holding him fast, he had had a terrifying flash back as a sickening barrage of bitter, painful memories and emotions had assaulted him…and were carried across the thread that linked them, to Tara.

 

The image of Buffy’s brutal, selfish violation was now branded into her mind as surely as it was in his.  His blinding, desperate terror, as hands possessed of a strength Tara could never hope to wield held him, unyielding, forcing, taking ruthlessly what was only his to give.  The agony of shame that took hold of his heart in that moment, and had not yet let go.

 

He saw it in her eyes…the shocked realization…and backed quickly away from her, off the bed, panicked with the shame of his secret revealed, no thought in his head but just to _get away_.

 

“Oh my God…” Tara whispered. “Spike…”  She got up from the bed and went to go to him.

 

Turning around, he opened the door as if to flee, and was stopped by the knowledge that there was nowhere to go.  The same painful memories which filled him with shame, also bound him to the apartment with fear.  And, having no desire to take this situation out into the living room where Dawn slept, he just stood there for a moment, then slowly closed the door again.  But he did not turn around; just stood there at the doorway, eyes closed, breathing hard.

 

Slowly, cautiously Tara rose from the bed and approached him. “Spike…” she whispered. “Sweetheart…”  From behind him she reached a tentative hand to touch his arm.

 

“Don’t,” he rasped, not turning, pulling away from her hand.

 

Tara dropped her hand to her side.  She could feel the shame and self-disgust rolling off of him in waves.  His darkest secret had been revealed to her, and he was utterly humiliated.  How could she make him see that it was not his fault, that she did not see him any differently?

 

“She’s the Slayer, Spike,” she softly said. “There’s nothing you could have done…”

 

“Please,” he interrupted, and his voice was anguished, tearful.  “Please, just…don’t, Tara.”

 

Realizing that words were useless at this moment, and touch was worse, Tara was stripped of any way of reaching him.  Unless…sudden inspiration struck her; if Spike’s emotions had traveled to her mind by way of the connection they had set up, could she somehow make him see how she felt about him in the same way?

 

It couldn’t hurt to try.  Focusing her energy, Tara reached out, willing him to feel the love and support she wanted to give him.  And almost in spite of himself, as he struggled _not_ to feel, to bury his feelings back behind the wall he had built inside himself, he felt the warmth of her affection, her concern, her _love_ enveloping him in a comforting embrace.  There was not the slightest hint of disgust or revulsion in her feelings, as he would have expected.  For a brief moment, he saw himself through her eyes...strong...desirable... _loved_ , and an overwhelming sense of unworthiness came over him.

 

 _I love you; I love you; I love you…_ Her soft voice came to him in symphony with the sweet emotions that washed over him from her.  The simple power of her love, covering him, surrounding him, caused the walls built in desperation to crumble to dust at her feet.

 

Leaning forward and leaning his head against the door, Spike broke down.  Bitter tears traced lines down his crumpled face, as he slid down the wall to his knees on the floor.  Now, Tara went to him, putting her arms around him.  Now, her comforting words were welcome.

 

“It’s not your fault, Spike,” she whispered in his ear, cradling him in her arms.  “She had no right…shh…it’s all right, it’s all right, baby.”

 

He didn’t say anything, only sobbed in her arms.  But she could feel the bitter self-loathing emanating from him.  He still could only see himself as the vile, disgusting thing that was only worthy to be used and then thrown away…the thing Buffy had made him see in himself.

 

Reaching down, she lifted his chin gently so that she could meet his eyes.  Arresting his gaze with her own, she said softly, clearly, deliberately, “You are so incredibly beautiful to me.  Do you know that?  You helped me find my own strength, Spike.  I don’t know what I’d do without you.  I love you, Spike.  I love you.”

 

There was utter amazement and awe in his tear-soaked eyes as he gazed up at her.  “Oh, Tara!” he sobbed, pulling her closer. “Tara, Tara, I love you!”

 

They stayed like that, on the floor, for a long while, just holding each other.  Finally, thinking that it would not be so okay to wake up here as on the bed or loveseat, Tara gently pulled him to his feet and led him to the bed.  They removed only their shoes before lying down on the bed, still fully clothed.  Tara snuggled up behind Spike, putting her arms around him and holding him close to her, long after the cleansing tears had stopped, until they both fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

The first thing Tara saw when she awoke this time was a pair of wide, impossibly blue eyes gazing at her, watching her sleep.  As soon as her own made contact, they were quickly averted, but not before Tara could read the emotions and questions they held.  Would Tara still want him after what she had seen the night before?  Was the night before just a terrible mistake to her, a result of her own loneliness and hurt?  And why shouldn’t he wonder?  How many times had Buffy slept in his own bed, holding him as Tara had, in the hours following their fervent embraces, only to be gone in the morning, or worse, be there to reject him in person?

 

But a good’s night rest had done nothing to dissuade Tara from her feelings of the night before.  She was not sure where her relationship with Spike would end up, or how everything would turn out, but there were a few things she was sure of.  One was that he needed her desperately right now, and another was that she wanted him just as badly.

 

And she knew that she loved him.

 

She was not yet sure if she was _in_ love with him, yet anyway, but he had begun to consume her thoughts in a way that no one but Willow had ever done.  And now in the faint morning light that filtered through the curtains, when he was the first thing she saw upon waking, she knew that she wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

 

So she did.  Slowly, tenderly, as if he were some fragile thing that might shatter if too much pressure were applied.

 

 _And isn’t he?_ she reminded herself, with a promise to herself, _God, I’m gonna be so careful not to hurt him! He’s been hurt enough for several lifetimes._

 

And in the next moment, he took her in his arms and returned her kiss with an intensity that made her wonder if she had accidentally spoken her thoughts to him, and he was trying to disprove his fragility.  As she wrapped her arms around his body, already halfway on top of hers, she could feel her own body responding to his touch.

 

Then a soft clatter from the kitchen drew her attention away for a moment. _Dawn_.

 

“Oh, Spike,” she sighed resignedly. “We’d better check on Dawnie.”

 

His sigh echoed hers as he responded with good-natured annoyance, “Right, then.  Can’t leave a fifteen-year-old to herself for ten minutes.”  He frowned, as if realizing the implication of those words as to his own stamina, and amended, “Or…thirty.”

 

She was relieved to find his humor in good form, as she was by the relaxed pressure of his body on hers.  Obviously she had already answered at least a few of his questions.

 

Tara’s soft giggle was musical, balm to his bruised, healing emotions, and he hugged her tight for a moment, before she reluctantly pulled away. “I invited her here, and she’s here to see you.  We can’t just leave her to her own devices.”

 

He sighed in defeat, laying his head down on her chest, his hands on her sides.  With a mischievous glint in her eye, taking advantage of his relaxed and therefore vulnerable position, Tara rolled quickly over, reversing their positions so that she was over him.  Brushing her body lightly over his as she leaned up toward his lips, parted slightly in surprise beneath widened eyes, she whispered, “Besides…Dawn’s not here *every* day… we have all the time in the world.”  Her slow, sultry smile alone was enough to arouse him, even without the soft, barely there touch of her body.  She leaned in to give him a slow, languorous kiss, before rising slowly to leave the room.

 

He took a moment to process what had just happened as she walked out into the living room.  He realized suddenly that he was breathing hard.  He would never have imagined that such a seductive goddess resided in the sweet, meek girl that Tara usually appeared to be.  He sat up, and just sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the moment in his head again.

 

Tara was unlike any woman he had ever known.  In his life he had had two great loves… Drusilla, and Buffy.  Drusilla was unique in her madness…by turns infuriating and irresistible to him.  But as any romance between two vampires, their love had revolved around sex and pain.  Drusilla often demanded gentleness…if not verbally, by her very vulnerability…but never gave it.  She had been a wild creature in her strongest moments, ravaging him completely…and he had loved every moment.

 

Buffy had been his obsession for the past several years.  Everything about her had driven him mad with desire.  And when he had finally found himself in her arms, he had felt like the luckiest creature undead.  And at the heights of their passion, there had been moments of complete ecstasy, when he had been allowed to lavish his love upon her for a few brief moments.  But always in the end, she had rejected him, making his relationship with her…if he could even call it one…a jarring, painful roller coaster ride of impossible heights and devastating lows.

 

Never had he known a woman like Tara.  So soft, so gentle and loving, yet strong and possessed of a primal power that rendered him helpless to her touch.  Everything he had known for 120 years had been pain, death, bloodshed, even the best moments of pleasure threatening to leave him torn to pieces in their wake.  But Tara was tender, and soft, never pushing, never demanding, just covering him again and again with her unselfish, freely given affection, and startlingly beautiful words of love.

 

 _You are so incredibly beautiful to me_. The words rang in his head still, and he shook his head a little in disbelief.  No one had ever told him he was beautiful before.  He had heard many complimentary things from his lovers.

 

_You’re so hot, Spike._

_No one touches me like you do, Spike._

_Oh, God, do that thing with your tongue again, Spike._

But, _beautiful_? Never.

 

“Bloody hell!” he whispered, shaking his head, a slow smile creeping across his face. “Buffy who?”

 

When Tara entered the kitchen, Dawn was standing at the sink, washing the dishes they had used for their take-out the night before.

 

“Um…did I wake up in some alternate universe?” Tara teased, picking up a dishtowel and joining her. “Cause this can _not_ be reality!”

 

“Ha ha,” Dawn smirked, a strangely smug sparkle in her eyes.  “Sleep well?” Her tone was innocent, and her laughing eyes were carefully focused on the glass in her hand.

 

Tara shot her a dark look, trying to sound casual, “Sure did,” she responded calmly.  Then her girlish desire to spill got the best of her, and with a glance toward the door to be sure Spike was still in the bedroom, she smiled. “ _Very_ well.”

 

“Oh. My. God.  You guys didn’t…” Dawn looked shocked.  After all, it was only last night that their status had been “just friends”.

 

“No,” Tara replied, casting Dawn a reproving look. “we didn’t.  But…there was significant kissage…no…significant…um…”

 

“Making out?” Dawn supplied helpfully

 

Tara smiled and nodded.  “You could say that.”

 

“So…” Dawn continued, her curiosity getting the better of her sense of icky wrongness at wondering what kissing Spike was like.  He was like her big brother, after all.  But she had not just been trying to build his confidence when she had told him he was hot.  A girl couldn’t help but wonder about these things… “what was it like?”

 

“Um,” Tara stuttered, blushing furiously.  “Let’s just say…the boy really knows how to…um…”

 

“Please a woman?” Dawn supplied helpfully again…just as Spike walked into the kitchen.

 

Tara’s face turned beat red, and Spike’s mouth turned up in a self-satisfied smirk.  Tara’s soft, affectionate words meant the world to him.  Still it didn’t hurt to be assured that he still had the touch.  He had inferred all he needed to know from Dawn’s last comment.

 

Seeing his satisfaction, Tara’s embarrassment faded and she smiled. “Exactly,” she replied, the word loaded with meaning as she gave him an appreciative glance as he reached her and put his arm around her casually.

 

“So you gonna talk to Willow today?” Dawn asked, not realizing the implications of the question until after it had left her mouth.

 

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed, before Tara nodded in a resigned way.  “Yes,” she nodded firmly, turning to return Spike’s sideways embrace almost without thinking about it. “About a couple things.”

  

These days, the best place to find Willow was the Magic Box.  If she was not making a purchase, she was delving into the books, and not the ones for sale.  The ones that Anya kept upstairs, away from the prying eyes of those too inexperienced to know what they were dealing with.  And that was what frightened Tara; Willow knew _exactly_ what she was dealing with.

 

And she chose to deal with it anyway.

 

Today, however, she was sitting at the table on the main floor, intent on whatever book was opened before her.

 

“Will,” Tara began tentatively, and Willow looked up with a brilliant, hopeful smile.

 

“Hey, Tara. What’s up?” she said, too brightly.

 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Tara asked, nodding her head toward the training room.

 

“Sure,” Willow seemed a bit flustered, as if this was the last thing she had expected, and Tara cringed inwardly.  Though she was not looking forward to it, before this conversation was over, she was going to have to make things clear to Willow—make her see that the reconciliation she was hoping for was not on the way.

 

Once the door was closed behind them, Tara jumped right into her topic.  “Will—I need to see a copy of the resurrection spell you used to bring Buffy back.”

 

Willow frowned, a hint of suspicion in her eyes.  “Why?” she asked.  “I mean—again? What for?”

 

“Well—Buffy just doesn’t seem…herself…lately, and I was wondering if maybe…there was something in…in the spell…”

 

“So it’s _my_ fault again!” Willow’s voice was full of hurt and resentment. “Buffy’s in a snit for a few days and it’s all Willow’s fault, for dragging her out of heaven!”

 

Inwardly Tara recoiled from the childish, pouty tone and words. Had Willow been like this all along?  Had Tara really never noticed before how self-centered and immature she could be?

 

“No, Will, that’s not what I’m saying. It might be nothing, but…I would just like to see it…you know, to be sure,” she tried to explain, deliberately keeping her annoyance out of her voice.

 

“Well,” Willow said reluctantly. “Ok. How about I come over tonight and we’ll go over it together…” Her voice was too hopeful; Tara felt extremely uneasy.

 

She took a deep breath. “Um…Will…I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

 

Something regretful and hesitant in her tone alerted Willow to the fact that something was wrong.  Her eyes fearful, she said in an almost whisper, “W-why not, Tara?”

 

Tara could not meet her eyes at first, though she felt the other girl deserved at least that much.  “I—I don’t think it’s a good idea for—for us to be—seeing each other any more.  At all.”

 

Willow’s eyes widened, suddenly flooded with tears.  “Tara…Tara why?  What did I do?  Tara, please!”  Her hand reached out and took Tara’s desperately, seeking her eyes. 

 

With a force of will Tara met her former lover’s eyes.  She frowned slightly at the expression in Willow’s eyes.  An instant too late, she realized that Willow was not merely looking in her eyes, but deeper.

 

Before she could react in any way, Willow had snatched her hand from Tara’s with a startled, strangled little cry, her eyes widening in shock.  Then, pain and betrayal filled her eyes as she whispered, “Tara…how could you…?”

 

Tara’s eyes darted up to hers again, fiery with anger. “No, Willow. How could _you_?” she demanded, her voice quiet. “It’s not your business to go intruding in my thoughts.”  Her own voice suddenly tearful, raised in frustration, she added, “My God, Will, why do you think I broke up with you in the first place? Do you still have no idea why that is just _wrong_?”

 

Willow was not even hearing her words.  Her face was contorted into a sneer of bitter disgust.  “I thought you were better than that, Tara.  How could you stoop so low?”

 

Tara’s heart leapt up into her throat, both with the pain of the cruel words in the mouth of one who had once held her heart, and with the realization those words brought.

 

 _Oh, God, no!_ Tara felt panic rising in her.  There was no way that Willow would keep what she had seen a secret.

 

“Will…”  she began, reaching out to catch her arm.

 

But Willow yanked free and opened the door to the Magic Box.

 

After a moment’s ethical dilemma, Tara made a quick decision.  She considered that a slight invasion of Willow's mind--just a small spell to take back the stolen knowledge Willow had gained by reading her mind--was the lesser of two evils, compared to allowing her to reveal Spike's secret and get him hurt or killed.  Besides, it would be nothing more than taking back what was hers.

 

Under her breath she whispered the Latin words to snatch her own stolen thoughts back from her former lover's mind.

 

Now hyper-aware of any magical activity around her, her mind swollen with ill-gotten power, Willow mentally saw the spell coming before it took effect, and with mere force of her will deflected it, while simultaneously setting in place a small glamour so that Tara would not know her spell had failed.

 

 _Not so wrong when you do it, is it Baby?_ she thought resentfully to herself.  _Don’t worry; I won’t be telling Buffy your little secret._   She stalked out of the Magic Box, her eyes darkening with cruel purpose. _This is personal now._


	14. Chapter 14

Tara stormed into her apartment, slamming the door behind her in a rare display of frustration.  Tossing her purse on the counter she headed for her bedroom.  Spike was sitting on the loveseat, unnoticed by her in her emotional state.  He immediately got up to follow her, concerned.

 

"Tara? Love?" he asked softly, following her into her room. "What is it, Pet?"

 

She was lying across her bed on her stomach, her head resting on her arm, gazing bleakly toward the wall.  She did not answer him, but when he drew nearer, he could see the silent tears that streaked her soft face.

 

"Tara, what's wrong, love? What's happened?" he entreated, kneeling by the bed at her side and gently taking her hand in both of his before lifting one of them to her cheek in a comforting manner, gently thumbing away a tear.

 

Slowly she pulled away, turning as she sat up a little, facing him with an expression in her eyes that frightened him.  She simply looked at him for a moment, tears still flowing.  Then she said softly, “She did it again.”

 

He was confused.  “Who, love?  Buffy? What did she do?”

 

Tara shook her head. “Not Buffy.  Willow.”

 

Spike felt his blood run colder at the words, because now he knew what had happened.  Tara had gone to see the other witch this morning, to find out about the resurrection spell...and Willow had taken the opportunity to mess with her mind again.

 

He rose quickly, fury in his eyes, ice-blue and ice-cold.  “I’ll kill her. Where is she?”

 

“No, Spike,” Tara insisted, pulling gently but insistently at his hand still in hers, pulling him down to sit beside her on the bed. “You can’t. And I – I don’t want you to.” In spite of how Willow had hurt her – again – there was still the fact that some small part of her would always love Willow, no matter what, just as some part of Spike would always love Buffy.  Besides, there was also the whole “killing people is wrong” fact, and the whole “if Spike tries to hurt Willow the chip will make his brain explode, if she doesn’t do it first” fact.

 

The only one of these reasons that occurred to Spike was the first one.

 

His eyes widened in hurt and confusion as they searched hers.  Unsatisfied by what he saw there, he stood abruptly and walked toward the heavily curtained window, gazing sideways through the crack in the curtains, out into the midday sun.

 

Now Tara was the one who was concerned.  She rose and slowly walked to stand behind him, putting a soft hand on his arm. “Spike?” The word was a question.

 

He said nothing for a moment.  Then, without turning, he said in a voice low with restrained anger, “It’s all well and good to tell _me_ to stay away from the fire, so I don’t get burned.  But when it comes to you, love...not quite the same, then, is it?”

 

Tara’s eyes widened with realization. “Spike...”  She began, reaching out, turning him to face her.  “I have no desire to be with Willow.”  Her eyes urgently sought his, needing for him to see the truth in her eyes.  “I want _you_.  I want to be with _you_.”

 

He met her eyes for a moment before looking down at the floor.  Finally he whispered, “I would never hurt you.”

 

Tara’s eyes flooded with fresh tears at the heart-felt emotion in his voice.  “I know,” she whispered back, reaching up to trace the exquisite lines of his face with her fingertips. “That’s one reason I love you so much. But _only_ one,” she smiled, dipping her head, trying to catch his eye again, and this time he allowed it, with a small sheepish smile in return.

 

“Sorry I’m such a jealous git, love,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and speaking into her hair, his head on her shoulder. “Just can’t stand the thought of losing you...or of you letting Red hurt you, or anyone else for that matter.”

 

“I know,” she whispered, reaching up to run her fingers gently through his hair.  There was a long pause, before she gently pulled away and led him back to sit with her on the bed again.  The look on her face told him that she had something to say, so he just looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak.

 

When she finally did, her voice was low, soft, measured, speaking of very deep, barely controlled emotion.  “Before I met Willow...everyone I was with...every _man_ I was with...hurt me.  I came to just expect it from men, to hurt me.  Then I met Willow, and she...”  She paused, searching for words, a small wistful smile on her lips that faded into pained remembrance.  “She was...well, she was just...Willow...you know?”

 

Spike did know.  The Willow he had first known was sweet, unassuming, had a way of making you feel comfortable just because she was in no way intimidating.  She was...just Willow.

 

Tara continued, “She was so sweet to me...she made me feel...special.  For the first time in my life.  And I thought...maybe that’s the problem...maybe men always hurt you...but Willow...I could never have pictured her hurting me...ever...and she didn’t.  Not until after she brought Buffy back...Something changed then, Spike.”  She shook her head sadly.  “And she wasn’t the same person.  And I found out that she _could_ hurt me...worse than any man ever had, in fact.”

 

Spike sat silent, listening, holding her gaze intently, not sure where this was going.

 

“Then...I found out...what Buffy was doing to you...”

 

His gaze faltered for a moment before he bravely forced his eyes back up to hers.

 

“...and I did a lot of thinking...and I realized...it’s not that men hurt you and women don’t, or vice versa.”  She smiled softly at him, reaching up to touch his face again. “It comes down to this...real love doesn’t hurt.  If a person is hurting you, and not caring that they’re hurting you... it’s not love.  It’s selfish.  It’s about what they can get from you.  And the more you give and give to try and keep them, to make them love you...the more they feel like it’s ok for them to take from you...you have to cut it off.  You have to expect more for yourself.  Accept nothing less than someone who loves you...just as much as you love them.”  Her eyes shone with unshed tears, and her smile grew until it was blinding.

 

Spike felt his own eyes well with tears, but they were not the bitter, painful tears he had spent days shedding lately.  “I love you, Tara,” he whispered, putting his hand behind her head and gently stroking the back of her neck, leaning in closer to her.  “I love you so much.”

 

“I love you,” Tara whispered, meeting him exactly in the middle of the space between them, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him deeply.

 

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, despite the fact that Spike had no reason to be.

 

A sudden thought occurring to him, Spike asked, “Not to break the mood, love...but...how did you know she’d wiped your memory again?”

 

Tara frowned at the memory.  “She didn’t wipe my memory.  She read my mind.  She...” she shuddered. “She saw...us...last night...what we did.”

 

Spike’s eyes widened in horror.  Tara rushed to reassure him, “Don’t worry, I...I took it back.”

 

“Come again, love?”

 

“I...did a spell to take back the knowledge she took from my mind.  She doesn’t remember anything she read in my mind.  She just thinks when she tried to it didn’t work for some reason.”

 

He paused, frowning thoughtfully.  “You’re sure it worked, then, love?”

 

“Oh, yes, I’m sure,” Tara nodded certainly.  “She doesn’t remember what she saw.”

 

“Good,” he sighed softly, pulling her into his arms, holding her close to him.  He could feel the tension in her body and knew that she was not yet recovered from the experience.  “I’m so sorry it happened, love,” he whispered to her, his voice husky with emotion.  “I wish I could have stopped it.”

 

“I’ll just keep my distance from her,” Tara murmured, tears in her voice.  “Just have to stay away completely.”  They sat like that in silence for a while, before she finally added, in a voice that showed much more composure, “I don’t know how we’re going to find out more about that spell now, though.”

 

“Where’s she keep her spell books and such?” Spike asked, his breath gently rustling her loose hair pleasantly, as one hand softly trailed through it.

 

Tara looked up at him darkly.  “I’m not exactly sure, but I’m assuming it’s somewhere at Buffy’s house...where she _lives_ ,” she said pointedly.  “And Mr. My-middle-name-is-breaking-and-entering, you are _not_ taking a risk like that!”  There was no compromise in her eyes.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a voice and expression of mock-fear.

 

She smiled and leaned back against him, nestling comfortably against his chest as he leaned back against the headboard, closing her eyes.  Suddenly they opened wide again.  “I just had an idea,” she declared, pulling against his cradling arms and getting up, despite his whimper of protest.

 

“Hope it’s bloody important, love,” he grumbled.

 

She just smiled as she reached for the phone on her dresser.  She dialed a number and listened as it rang.

 

“Hello?” a voice chirped on the other end of the line, loud enough for Spike to hear it from the bed.

 

Tara smiled conspiratorialy.  “Hey, Dawnie.”


	15. Chapter 15

Dawn hung up the phone and took a deep breath before going down to the basement to face her recently very scary sister.  Buffy had been…different…for a long time now.  But as of yet, she had never done anything to make Dawn afraid of her.  Oh, sure, the yelling factor had definitely increased, but Buffy had never raised a hand to her.  And Dawn was sure that she never would.

 

Until she saw Spike’s crypt.

 

Until she realized that the bruises and other injuries she had been seeing on him for months were from _Buffy._

 

Now, though she knew she had to do her best to act as if nothing had changed, she knew that as far as she was concerned, everything had changed.  She didn’t even know her sister anymore.  She went down to the basement, where her sister was working out, raining savage, powerful blows on the punching bag strung from the ceiling.  Shuddering, Dawn tried to block out the image of her friend’s battered face, caused by those very same furious fists.

 

“Hey, Buff,” she said casually, glad that her sister was too distracted to notice any tension in her tone.

 

“Hey,” Buffy gasped out, breathing hard, not letting up on the bag.

 

“Can I go to Tara’s again tonight?” Dawn asked. “We had so much fun last night.”

 

“School night.”

 

_Crap._

 

“But all my homework’s done, and Tara said she’d be sure I got to school on time…”

 

“No.  School night,” Buffy repeated firmly, never even looking at her sister.  And her tone was one that Dawn knew was not going to waver.

 

“Fine,” she snarled at her sister, as she turned and flounced back up the stairs.  Ordinarily she would have put up more of a fuss, but she didn’t want to make Buffy suspicious by seeming _too_ anxious to go to Tara’s, so she decided not to push the issue.

 

Still, this presented a problem.

 

Dawn went all the way upstairs to her room, to be sure there was no chance of her sister overhearing, then locked the door and picked up the phone.  She dialed Tara’s number.  It rang three times, and then she heard the click of the receiver being picked up, but not a word.  She was not surprised; this meant Spike had answered the phone.  Tara had caller ID, so he knew if Buffy’s number showed up, it could be Dawn.  But just in case, he would pick up the phone and not say anything.  If it was Buffy, she would assume there was a problem with the line.  If it was Dawn…

 

“Hey, Spike, it’s me,” she whispered.

 

“Hey, Bit, what’s up?”

 

“I can’t come over there tonight.”

 

“Bollocks.” There was silence for a few moments, before he began. “Well, let’s see… where’s your sis?”

 

“She’s working out.  She just started so she’ll be in the basement for a while.”

 

“Well…if you can come outside for a few minutes, I can meet you at the end of your street,” Spike suggested.

 

“That’ll work,” Dawn agreed.

 

“Call me back when you’ve got it, Pet.”

 

Dawn hung up the phone and took another deep breath.  Now for the hard part.  She got up and walked across the hall to the master bedroom…Willow’s bedroom.  The witch was at an evening study group for one of her college classes, and was not due back for about an hour.  She should be safe, unless Buffy caught her.  She would have to be quick.

 

Ducking through the door, closing it behind her, Dawn immediately set to work.  She first looked through the books on the bookshelves, but found nothing of any interest.  Then she went through the dresser drawers, but there were no sinister-looking books hidden there, either.  Finally she checked the most obvious hiding place: under the bed.

 

 _Willow never was very original_ , she smirked as she pulled out a dusty, thick volume labeled simply, “Resurrection”.  _Jackpot._   The book was stacked on top of several notebooks.  Unable to restrain her curiosity, Dawn pulled them out and quickly discovered that they were Willow’s old diaries. 

 

Suddenly, she had an idea.  Judging by the layer of dust coating the top book in the stack, Willow did not look through these often, and with any luck would never know she had taken anything.  She quickly scanned the books until she found one beginning just before the time of Buffy’s death, and ending about a month ago.  She picked it up too and hurried out of the room and back to her own, where she wrapped the books together in one of her sweaters and picked up the phone.

 

Three rings.  Silence.

 

“I’ve got it.”

 

“’K, Pet. It’ll take me about fifteen minutes to get over there.  Sit tight til then, I don’t want you standin’ out alone waitin’ on me.  You’d make right tempting beastie bait.”

 

“Eww, Spike,” Dawn groaned.

 

“Well, I’m just saying! I don’t want anything to happen to you, pet.  Just do as I say,” Spike argued, his voice a bit gruffer.

 

Dawn knew it was only because he cared, and although she would never have admitted it, it made her feel all warm and safe inside when he was all grumbly and protective of her.  “Ok,” she conceded before hanging up.

 

Restless and antsy, she waited a bare ten minutes at the most before grabbing her jacket and hurrying downstairs.  She stood at the basement door for a moment and listened; Buffy was still pounding away at the punching bag, and the frequency of her blows had not let up a bit.  She would be at it a while.  Dawn hurried out the door, leaving it unlocked and shutting it quietly behind her.

 

Spike was waiting as promised at the end of Revello Drive.  Impulsively she hugged him, and he laughed softly. “Missed you too, pet,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

 

“Here,” she whispered, breathless with running and the cold winter air, as she handed him the bundle.  “I took her diary too, from when Buffy was…gone,” she added, beaming up at him proudly.

 

“You’re a regular little spy, you are, love,” he smiled appreciatively as he took it from her.

 

“Just thought it might be helpful.”

 

“’M sure it will.  Now you get back inside, love.  I’m gonna head on back now.  I’ll see you soon,” he urged her, glancing anxiously around to be sure they weren’t seen.

 

“Ok,” she nodded, turning to go. “See you.”  She paused, then turned and said, very quickly, almost as if she was afraid if she waited a moment longer she wouldn’t say it at all, “I love you, Spike.”

 

His eyes widened with surprise.  His throat constricted with emotion, but it wouldn’t do to let the Bit see him off his guard.  He swallowed back the tears and said softly, “You, too, Bit.  Get on home now.”

 

As he turned to go he felt a warmth flooding him, despite the chill of his own body and the chill of the winter night air.  First Tara.  Now Dawn.  He didn’t deserve this much love.

 

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he did not even think about or recognize the figure walking toward him down the sidewalk, until she smoothly stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

 

He looked up past the firmly crossed arms across her chest to her face…Willow.

 

“Hey, Red,” he said, trying for casual.  His thoughts were racing.  Buffy didn’t want her friends to know about them, so she wouldn’t have said anything.  Tara had erased what Willow had read in her mind.  Willow had no way of knowing that anything was up. _Just. Act. Natural._

 

”Hey, Spike,” she replied with a cool smile.  No, not cool.  Frigid.  Chilling.  “Where you headed?”

 

“H-home,” he replied, not quite meeting her eyes, inwardly cursing the stammer. _Wanker. Wanker! Nothing to fear, here. ‘Less you make her suspicious by acting guilty!_

 

“Huh.  Your crypt’s that way, isn’t it?” Her smile widened slightly.  What was that saying?  Something about a cat and a canary?

 

“Um…yeah…I…was going to Willie’s first for a bit,” he corrected with a nervous laugh.

 

Willow glanced at the package under his arm, and he froze.

 

“Is that… _Dawn’s_ sweater?” Willow asked indignantly, looking up at him with suspicion and disgust in her eyes.

 

“What, this? No…no, it’s…it’s…”  Abruptly he darted around her.  Quick as a flash she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

 

He was surprised at her strength.  Had Red always been this strong?  Or maybe…maybe he was just weak.  Too many weeks of _not_ fighting back, being broken down.

 

But there was no more time to wonder, because Willow was reaching for the package under his arm.  If she found it, he knew there would be serious consequences.  Willow was very powerful, and she would not be pleased, to say the least. Bracing himself for the pain, he did the only thing he could think of.

 

He drew back his fist and punched her.  Hard.  It had to be hard, because she would have to be out of commission long enough for him to recover from the pain caused by his chip.

 

Which did not go off.

 

Spike stood there for a moment, stunned, disbelieving, as Willow crumpled to the ground, moaning in pain, but conscious.  Then he remembered the situation at hand.  There would be time to figure this out later.  For now, he had to get back to Tara’s.  He took off at a dead run down the street toward Tara’s house.

  

With trembling hands he unlocked the door and hurried inside, locking the door behind him. There was no way that Willow could know where he was headed, but he was still shaken.  Only once his mind had processed that he had made it to safety, with the books still in hand and intact, did he allow himself to remember.

 

The chip had not gone off.  Was it a simple one-time malfunction?  Had the bloody thing finally quit altogether?  He had asked himself the same questions whenever he had hit Buffy and felt no pain.  And in the end it had turned out that nothing was wrong with his chip…

 

Something was wrong with the _girl._

 

His eyes widened as he considered the idea.  He had to find a way to test it out, but with an angry witch out there, who now had a pounding headache, courtesy of Spike, he was not planning on going out again.

 

When Tara got home, he eagerly met her at the door, pouring out the story before she could even get inside.  It took a couple of disjointed, rambling tellings of the story before he could calm down enough to make it make sense.  Once everything was out, Tara sat there on the loveseat, a troubled frown on her face.

 

“So…either something’s wrong with your chip…or something’s wrong…with Will.”

 

“That’s about the size of it, love.”

 

Tara was silent for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders, standing up. “Well, let’s test it out.”

 

“Come again, love?” Spike raised an eyebrow at her dubiously, suspecting what she had in mind and not liking it at all.

 

“Hit me,” Tara confirmed his suspicions, with a two-handed, beckoning, “let’s-fight” sort of gesture that coming from her just looked cute.

 

Spike laughed aloud, shaking his head as he stood up too, both hands out in front of him in denial. “I am _not_ gonna hit you, love!” he declared.

 

“Come on, Spike, it’s the only way to know for sure.  We _know_ there’s nothing wrong with _me_.  You hit me before and nothing happened,” Tara pointed out.

 

Spike looked down, embarrassed. “Sorry bout that, pet.”

 

“Don’t be,” she smiled. “You helped me.  And you’ll be helping me now.”

 

“How’s that?”

 

“If the chip only shorts out on Buffy and Willow…then chances are whatever’s wrong with Buffy is also wrong with Willow.”  She paused, giving him a moment to digest that.  Then she concluded, “If Buffy’s obsession is you…who would Willow’s obsession be?”

 

Spike’s eyes widened in understanding.  “You could be in danger.”

 

Tara nodded apologetically.  “The only way to know for sure is to check the chip.  Hit me.”

 

Spike looked very unhappy.  He did not want to hurt her at all.  But what she was saying made sense.  “I _don’t_ wanna do this, love,” he said softly, meeting her eyes with an anguished look.

 

“It doesn’t have to hurt _much_ …does it?” Tara asked.  “Like…you can’t even point a gun at someone without the thing going off.  So if you just smacked me…not too hard, but enough to sting…you should feel _something_ , right?”

 

“Yeah,” Spike nodded slowly, looking a little less distraught.

 

Tara held out her arm. “Slap me,” she urged him.

 

Reluctantly he obeyed…and winced as a jolt of pain, not as extreme as if he had struck her harder, but still decidedly unpleasant, shot through his head.

 

“Well that’s that, then,” Tara said softly, going to him and sitting him down on the loveseat, gently massaging his aching head.  “It’s not you.  So it must be Willow.”

 

“Lookin’ more and more like it’s that spell all the time, innit, love?” Spike pointed out.

 

“The only way to know for sure is to check out these books,” Tara grimaced at the heavy volume on the counter.

 

Spike groaned, putting a hand to his head, then cast her a sly sidelong smile as he purred coyly, “Not tonight, love.  I’ve got a headache.”


	16. Chapter 16

Tara woke Spike the next morning with a slow, gentle kiss.  Sliding easily from dreams to wakefulness, he thought sleepily that it was a bloody marvelous way to wake up.

 

When he opened his eyes to give her a goofy smile, she smiled back and whispered seductively, “How’s the headache?”

 

“Gone, love,” he murmured, reaching for her and kissing her again, wrapping his arms around her.

 

She returned the kiss for a few moments, then pulled gently away, smiling at him again. “Good,” she replied. “Cause we’ve got work to do.”

 

He frowned as she sat up on the edge of the bed.

 

“Now that’s bloody unfair, love!” he grumbled as she got up and started getting dressed. “Not right to trick a bloke like that!”

 

She just smiled and said, “We’ve got to figure this thing out, Sweetie.  I’m gonna spend the day invading Scoobie territory.  If I can’t do some damage control for last night, I can at least find out what the damage is.”

 

He winced at the thought of his encounter with Willow the night before. “Yeah, once Red tells the Slayer ‘bout me hitting her, that’ll give the soddin’ Scoobies all the ammo they need.”

 

“Not to mention Buffy. I have a feeling from now on you won’t have to avoid just her.  If she thinks you’re chip-less, it gives her an excuse to go after you, and have everyone else on the lookout, too,” Tara pointed out.  “Which means it’s especially dangerous for you to go out.  While I’m handling the fieldwork, you can hit the books.  See what you can find out.”

 

Spike groaned again, but he grudgingly got out of the bed and began to dress.  Tara finished getting ready before he did, and walked up behind him as he was buttoning a black shirt. Hugging him warmly from behind, she kissed his cheek and whispered, “Bye, Baby. I love you.”

 

He turned and returned her embrace, his eyes shining worshipfully into hers at the words. “I love you too, Tara,” he responded in an awed whisper, still scarcely able to believe it was all real.  Never mind the fact that he had a psycho-stalker Slayer after him, or that he could not leave the confines of this small apartment.

 

Tara loved him.

 

And that was all he needed in the world.

 

 As Tara entered the Magic Box, she could hear heated conversation already underway, and prepared herself to again employ the acting skills she had been studying.

 

“…didn’t go off, Buffy! He hit me, hard, and the chip did Not. Go. Off.”

 

Buffy frowned thoughtfully, absolutely no indication of any personal interest in this information showing on her face. “You’re absolutely sure it didn’t go off? I mean, you said you were knocked down…”

 

 _Damn she’s good_ , Tara thought with bitter disgust.  This was the first time she had seen Buffy since her accidental discovery of just how far her abuse of Spike had gone.  Suddenly she was aware that she was going to have to put more effort into acting as if Buffy did not inspire utter rage and revulsion in her than she had thought.

 

“Positive,” Willow replied emphatically, granting Tara only a quick glance as the girl pulled out a chair and joined them at the table.  “I wasn’t knocked out, and I definitely would have noticed the screaming there would have been if the chip had gone off after how hard he hit me.”

 

“Who hit you?” Tara broke in, frowning with concern at Willow.

 

Willow finally acknowledged her with a cool smile.  “You know more than one person with a chip in his head, Tara?”

 

Tara flinched slightly in spite of herself at Willow’s biting tone.  But it was only to be expected that she would be curt with her after her final break-up speech to her the last time they had seen each other.

 

“So the chip’s not working,” Buffy sounded deeply troubled, and looked slightly sick. “And he hurt you, Will.  I guess that’s all I need to know, really.  He’s proven already that he’s a danger again.”  Tara had to hand it to her, she looked genuinely upset and disappointed, as if she had hoped that she would never have to say those words.

 

Tara wracked her brain for some way to defend Spike; some way to prove that he was not a danger to anyone.  But the only evidence she had could not be revealed, because it was also evidence that she had seen him in the past couple weeks, and Buffy could not know that.

 

With a sigh of resignation, Buffy stood up.  “Well, I guess we need to have an emergency meeting.  Everybody needs to know to be on the lookout for him.  I need to find him as soon as possible and…and put him down.”

 

Tara fought back a wave of disgust at the way Buffy spoke of him, as if he were just some…some dog to be put out of its misery.  “Wait a second,” she couldn’t help saying, keeping all but just a little concern out of her voice. “I mean, this is Spike we’re talking about.  And all he did was hit you, right?  Did he try to bite you?”

 

“No,” Willow admitted, smiling coolly.

 

The smile was unnerving to Tara; she deliberately avoided her ex-lover’s eyes, remembering what had happened the last time she had looked her in the eye.  “Then… then are we sure that he is going to start killing again?”

 

“We don’t have to be sure, Tara,” Buffy said matter-of-factly. “He’s a vampire.  If there’s any chance that he could hurt humans again…I can’t live with that if that happens.  Last time he was free to hurt humans, he killed thousands upon thousands of people.  We’ve gotten used to thinking of him as harmless.  But the truth is, without that chip, he’s anything but harmless. It’s my duty, Tara.  And I don’t like it any more than you do. But it’s what I have to do.”

 

Fighting back her anger at Buffy’s hypocrisy, Tara nodded in reluctant agreement.  She had to appear to accept Buffy’s words; anything less would appear suspicious.

 

Willow stood up, a smug smile on her lips. “What time do you want to meet?”

 

“As soon as possible. Sevenish, maybe?” Buffy suggested.

 

Willow nodded. “I’ll tell Xander and Anya.”

 

“I’m going to need you to do a de-invite at my house before tonight, ok, Will?” Buffy said.

 

Willow replied with a shrug, “Let’s do it.”  And the two of them headed for the door, not giving Tara a second glance.

 

Tara realized with a sick feeling that damage control was not really an option.  Who was she kidding?  There was no way that any of the Scoobies would believe anything she said over Buffy _and_ Willow, and both appeared to be fully convinced that he was a threat again.  Tara highly doubted that Buffy actually _believed_ that he was dangerous; she had to know the power that she held over him; even if he _had_ somehow gotten rid of his chip, he would not have dared to do anything to anger her. But Tara knew that Buffy would use this new development to her advantage, to help turn the other Scoobies more fully against Spike.

 

 _We’ve got to figure this out, and quick,_ she thought as she headed out the door and back toward her apartment.

  

Spike frowned in concentration.  This was simply too bloody complicated to follow.  He rubbed his eyes and squinted, trying again to focus…on the television screen.  The books lay untouched on the kitchen counter.

 

“Bloody talk shows,” he muttered, getting up and going to the refrigerator. “Can’t keep track of who’s shaggin whose soddin’ sister, who’s preggers with some other bloke’s baby! Bloody hell!”

 

He was just closing the refrigerator door when he heard the doorbell ring.  He froze, fighting off panic.

 

 _Couldn’t be Buffy_ , he reassured himself. _Girl would never ring the soddin’ bell._

 

Then, the polite ring was followed by a series of hard knocks that shook the door.

 

Trembling, he tried to calm himself, closing his eyes, taking several deep breaths. _She can’t find you here. She can’t find you here. She can’t find you here…_

 

“Spike! Are you here?” a familiar voice rang out through the door, and he released the breath in relief.  Dawn. “Open the freakin’ door!”

 

Quickly he crossed the living room and let her in, glancing around the hallway before closing it behind her.

 

“Just what do you think you’re doing here, Niblet?” he demanded, turning to face her accusingly.

 

Seemingly oblivious to his annoyance, she replied, “Visiting.”

 

“Well, you oughta be in school, Bit.  What do you think your sis would think if she knew you were cutting school?” He was building up a good mad, built from his unfounded fear, and annoyance at himself for said fear.  Firmly, he opened the door again, gesturing with his arm toward it. “You need to go.”

 

Her eyes widened with hurt, moist with tears.

 

_Oh, God, no. Not the puppy-dog eyes!_

 

“D-don’t you _want_ to see me?” she asked softly, her lower lip trembling.

 

He was lost.

 

“Of course I do, Bit, it’s just that if your sister knew…” he tried to explain, taking her arms gently in his hands.

 

“She won’t ever know.  I forged her signature on an excuse note to take to school tomorrow.”

 

Spike felt instantly very proud of her. “That’s my girl!” he laughed softly, relenting completely.  “All right then.  Maybe you can help me make heads or tails of these soddin’ books!”

 

“You haven’t started looking yet?” Dawn was incredulous.

 

Spike said nothing, just shot her a dark, “shut-up” look.

 

“Ok,” Dawn shrugged.  “I’ll take the journal.”

 

“Why do _you_ get the bleedin’ journal?” Spike was indignant.

 

“Because I’m only in 10th grade and that book is waaayy beyond my level,” she insisted, nodding seriously to confirm her claim.

 

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled, picking up the books and moving to the loveseat, passing the journal to Dawn, who was already seated there.

 

They sat in silence for about a half an hour, both immersing themselves in study.  Suddenly Spike closed the book, looking at Dawn in exasperation. “This bloody book is full of nothing but resurrection rituals, but I haven’t a soddin’ clue which one we’re looking for.  We need Tara for this; she was actually there.”

 

“I’m not having much luck either,” Dawn admitted. “I’m up to about a month after Buffy…died, and…” she struggled past the difficult word, and finished with an effort, “all she’d written up till then was just about how bad she missed her, how…how everybody was falling apart…”  Her voice trailed off.

 

Concern in his blue eyes, Spike reached over and closed the journal.  “Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, Sweet Bit,” he murmured.

 

Dawn didn’t look at him, obviously struggling for control.

 

At that moment, they heard Tara’s key turn in the lock, and the door opened.

 

Tara looked surprised to see Dawn, and then raised her eyebrows in a slightly accusing look directed at Spike.  “Dawn,” she said, still looking at Spike. “Why aren’t you in school?”

 

“I have a note,” Dawn supplied hopefully. “Signed by Buffy.  Well, signed by me signing _like_ Buffy, but still…”

 

“This is dangerous,” Tara insisted. “You need to be in school.”  She was still glaring at Spike.

 

Spike stood up, putting on a patented look to melt her defenses.  He had his own set of puppy-dog eyes.  “Now, pet,” he said softly, going to her, standing impossibly close, running his hands softly up and down her arms.  She tried to focus; how was she supposed to be firm in the face of this?  “There’s no way Buffy’ll find out she was here. She wants to help with the research. Without her, we wouldn’t even _have_ the books.  Can’t hurt to let her stay for a bit.”

 

Tara sighed.  “Fine,” she muttered, but her voice was softer now, and her eyes were dancing.  “What have we got?”

 

The three of them settled down to a long afternoon of research.


	17. Chapter 17

Two hours later, Tara and Spike were snuggled up together on the loveseat, the dreaded Resurrection text open across their laps.  Dawn was sitting on the floor, her back leaned comfortably against Spike’s legs, Willow’s journal open in her hands.

 

They still had nothing.  They had gone through spell after spell, but none was the one Tara remembered from that night.

 

With a frustrated sigh, Spike dropped his head back against the loveseat.  Just then, Tara suddenly jabbed at the book with a finger and nearly shouted in her excitement, “There!”

 

“You found it?” Spike’s voice was relieved and hopeful as he looked up at her.

 

“This is definitely the one!” Tara nodded emphatically, still scanning the spell.  “It’s the only one in the entire book that requires an urn of Osiris.” She frowned as she read the spell more closely. “My God!” she gasped, in a soft tone of dismay.  “How could I have missed this before?”

 

“What, love?” Spike’s attention was instantly focused on her, devoted and protective as always.

 

“There is _no way_ that Willow should have had enough power to pull this thing off!” Tara shook her head, looking up at Spike with wide, fearful eyes. “This is serious magic here. Very dark, very powerful magic!  As far as I know there’s only a handful of people alive who have enough power to do this, and they…”  She shuddered, reluctant to finish her thought. “They’re…so far gone…”

 

Spike felt a chill go through him as he processed her words.  His eyebrows raised, he concluded softly, “Red’s been playing with fire.”

 

Tara nodded slowly.  “For her to have the power to do this kind of magic…she had to have done something to increase her power—a _lot_!”  Her voice was hushed with dread.  Although she had no intention of ever being with Willow again, the thought of someone she had loved so dearly being involved in something so dark, placing herself in such danger, made her sick with fear.

 

“Whatever it was,” Dawn broke in, looking up from the journal, a frown on her face, “she was really scared to do it.  Listen to this; it’s dated about a month before she brought Buffy back.”  She turned back to the journal as Tara and Spike turned their attention toward her.

 

“’I don’t know if I can do this.  I’ve always thought and said that I would do anything for Buffy, but this is serious stuff.  If I go through with this, I’ll have almost unlimited magical power.  And it’s the only way I can bring her back.  But at what cost?  I mean, it seems so scary and dark and…and invasive.  It _is_.  _Something_ will be invading-- _me_.  But—I’ll still be me, right?  I mean, it will be there, but I’ll still be in control.  I’ll still be the same person, won’t I?”

 

“’I don’t care how much it requires me to do.  I have to do this for Buffy! She saved us all, I can’t leave her to suffer for her _sacrifice_ in some hell dimension! I don’t care if it kills me, I’m _going_ to get her out!’”

 

“Something _invading_ her…” Spike frowned.  “What the bleedin’ hell is she talking about?”

 

Tara looked pale.  “I don’t know.  But it sounds like she was messing with forces way beyond her control! I would have thought that Willow would have known better…that she would have _thought_ …”

 

“She thought she was helping Buffy,” Dawn whispered, looking up at Tara. “She didn’t know what she was doing, and she didn’t care.  All she cared about was Buffy, and she thought she was in hell.”

 

There was a brief silence as they all considered the implications of this new discovery.  Breaking the reverie, Tara said softly, “Good job, Dawnie.  Keep reading.  We need something with a…a name or something…anything that says _exactly_ what she was going to do to get the unlimited power.”

 

Dawn glanced at her watch and shot Tara an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, guys, but I have to go.  Buffy isn’t working today, and she’ll be expecting me home from school in like, half an hour.”

 

“’S ok, Bit. We’ll take it from here. Keep your eyes and ears open, Pet.  Let us know if you find out anything important,” Spike said, standing to hug her.  Suddenly the atmosphere of the room was charged with emotion.  He held on tight for a few long moments, not wanting to let go, and he could hear Dawn sniffling against his chest.  Tara had filled them in on what she had heard at the Magic Box, and both knew that it might be a while before they saw each other again.

 

“There now, pet,” Spike murmured into her hair, holding her close. “’S gonna be all right.  Big sis can’t find me here.  I’m perfectly safe.  And once we’ve figured this all out, everything will be back to normal.”  He knew that “normal” was never to be seen again; even if they could bring Buffy and Willow back to normal again, for the three in this room who had been so wounded by the changes in them, things could never be the same again. And there was always the very real danger that they would not be able to bring them back at all.  His words were a sweet lie meant only to comfort the girl he loved like a daughter, sister, and friend all in one.

 

But Dawn was not a child, and she knew the truth as well as he did.  Sobbing now, her voice muffled against his black shirt, she swore, “If she hurts you again, I’ll kill her! I will!”

 

“Shhh,” he whispered, shaking his head. “None of that, now, love.  Won’t come to that.  Come on now, Bit.  Can’t show up at home, like this, make her ask questions. Come on. There’s my brave girl.”

 

As the soothing words flowed over her on his warm-honey voice, Dawn felt herself calming.  She dried her tears, trying to regain her control.  “Ok…I’m ok,” she sniffled.  Smiling in an effort to be his “brave girl”, she said with more strength and assurance than she felt, “I’ll see you soon.”  She gave him one last quick hug and headed for the door.

 

She was almost there when that low, warm voice stopped her again. “Bit?”

 

With a half-turn toward him,  she replied, “Yeah?”

 

“I love you.”

 

A warm glow spread through her at the words.  She knew that Spike loved her; he had risked his life for her countless times.  But he rarely spoke the words aloud.  Gracing him with a brilliant smile under eyes shining with tears, Dawn replied softly, “You, too,” before heading out the door.

 

Spike just stood there for a few moments, watching the door.  Tara could see his mouth working, his hands trembling; he was fighting back tears of his own.  Going to him and wrapping her arm around his waist, she said softly, “Come here, Baby,” and led him back to sit with her on the loveseat.  Turning sideways, she pulled his head down onto her shoulder.

 

“Everything’s going to be all right,” she softly assured him. “We’ve finally got something to go on here.  We’re gonna work this out, Baby. We are.”  As she spoke she drew one hand up to lightly stroke through his hair.  God, she loved him!  After all that he’d been through already, he was being so strong and courageous, protecting and nurturing Dawn, who was probably getting nothing of the kind at home anymore.  And for all his encouraging, optimistic words, she could see the fear that was always there in his eyes, and was determined to try her best to do for him what he had done for Dawn.

 

“I know, love,” he replied, sounding deeply tired.  “I’m just sick to death of this.  Hiding, pulling Dawn into the middle of this whole nasty business, just…just feeling so bloody weak! Just…just everything, love!” He lifted his head and gave her a sad, helpless sort of smile before covering her lips with his own in a gentle, lingering kiss.  “Everything but you,” he amended.  Suddenly he frowned, reminded of something by his own words of moments before.  “I just remembered, love.  When I ran into Willow the other night… she was _strong_ … _very_ strong.  She grabbed me and I _couldn’t_ pull away from her.  That’s why I had to hit her.”

 

Tara frowned. “That’s odd.”

 

“Yeah.  Maybe whatever she’s done made her stronger _physically_ too,” he continued, nodding.  Then he frowned, too. “Or maybe I’m getting weaker.  Too much time just lying about…”

 

“Well, playing punching bag to a psychotic Slayer for the past few months might have a _little_ to do with that, Sweetheart,” Tara reminded him gently. “Cut yourself a _little_ slack.”

 

“I know…but either way…if Red’s getting stronger, then stands to reason Buffy’s getting stronger too.  Or if I’m just weaker, either way… I need to be getting ready.  For _whatever_ happens.  I have to be strong.  I can’t hide away forever, love.  I _won’t_.”

 

Tara searched his eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly.  “I have an idea about that; I’ll need to go out in a little while and get some things.  But for now, let’s see what else we can find in Will’s journal.  If we could figure out _exactly_ what we’re dealing with, then maybe we could know how to fight it.”

 

They spent the next hour scanning the journal, and finally came upon a reference to the ritual Willow had performed which included its name.

 

Tara read aloud, “Reyem Rasco…”  She turned noticeably pale.  “Oh my God!” she whispered.

 

“What?”

 

“I’ve heard stories about this all my life, but I never thought they were true.  I thought it was like a cautionary tale about magic, to keep people from going after too much power.  I had no idea…”  Her voice faded as she shook her head, staring at the page.

 

“Well, tell _me_ the story, love.  I’ve never heard it,” Spike reminded her, only a touch of impatience in his voice.

 

“Ok,” Tara sighed,  trying to gather her thoughts.  “The ritual is called Reyem Rasco.  It involves calling on this entity…Reyem…it’s not a spirit, not a demon, nothing like anything else…completely unique…but it has incredible magical power.  It’s said that if a person performs the ritual to combine their essence with Reyem’s, they’ll have unlimited power. 

 

"But it’s not free; it’s an exchange.  Reyem is incorporeal; it needs a human body in order to carry out its will, and its will…its only all-consuming desire… is ultimate power. 

 

"Naturally, the kind of person who would actually _do_ this ritual is someone who craves power. When it first starts out, they kind of feel like they’ve somehow lucked out and gotten a free ride…all this magic power, but it doesn’t seem like anything’s happened to their free will.  And by the time they _do_ realize, it’s too late. 

 

"Reyem starts off by just giving them the power to do whatever it was they wanted to do in the first place.  But with all that power, nobody’s gonna stop there.  And with every exercise of power the person does, Reyem gets stronger and stronger.  As the power corrupts the person, their will and Reyem’s become more and more mingled together, so that they can’t tell the difference anymore.  This thing just _feeds_ off power…so the more the person does its will, the more they lose themselves, and Reyem’s true form eventually begins to manifest itself.”

 

“Meaning?” Spike was frowning in confusion.

 

Tara looked at him, eyes wide with shocked realization.  “The person begins to gradually show qualities of Reyem…”

 

“Super-human strength, maybe?” Spike muttered.

 

Tara nodded slowly.  “Or a massive personality change…becoming abusive to those around them…until finally…the person herself is lost completely…and Reyem takes over,” she finished.

 

“So these…acts of power that the person performs which feed this thing…what sorts of things are we talking about here?” Spike asked, his voice strangely soft, thoughtful.

 

“Well, a good example would be Buffy’s behavior,” Tara acknowledged, seeing the direction his thoughts were taking.  “If that _is_ what’s happening to her.  See, she has a controlling personality to begin with—Slayer thing, I guess.  So every time she lost it with you…it fed Reyem’s power in her.  And every time it got a little more in control, so her behavior got worse and worse.  But she doesn’t know it; by this point their two wills would be so mingled that she just thinks the things she’s doing are what _she_ wants.  Their wills have become the same,” Tara explained.

 

Spike was quiet for a long moment. Then he said softly, “So…it…wasn’t _Buffy_ , all that time?”  Tara was struck by the raw pain, the vulnerability in his voice.  But what kind of hurt was the other emotion she heard there…hope.  He so wanted to believe his words, but she could not lie to him.

 

“ _If_ we’re right about this,” she began cautiously, “partly it was, and partly it wasn’t,” she replied gently, laying a comforting hand on his arm, swallowing back her own insecurity to deal with his pain.  “It _was_ her, at least at first…but as it got worse…it was her less and less…as Reyem took over.  Does that make sense?”

 

He nodded slowly, “So…do you think…there’s any of Buffy…left?”

 

“I don’t know,” Tara softly replied, as the words became another stab through her heart, trying to hide the hurt she knew was in her eyes.

 

“How would it have happened to _Buffy_ , anyway?” he asked, frowning. “If _Red_ did the ritual…”

 

“She used her power to give Buffy her life again…her power came from Reyem…I’m guessing there was a partial transfer somehow.”  Tara shrugged.

 

“Not hardly fair,” Spike muttered with a heavy sigh.

 

Tara was watching him closely, her huge, soft eyes troubled and hurt by the confusion and indecision she saw in his eyes.  Facing forward, he did not notice as he summarized the discussion to be sure he understood.

 

“So…Red took this Reyem thing into herself to give her the power to do the spell to bring Buffy back…and when she did it, it transferred partly to Buffy, and this thing feeds off power, so since the both of them are control freaks, it kept getting stronger and stronger until now it’s probably taken over almost completely and now the evil psycho things they’re doing are not really them but this Reyem beastie.  That about it, love?”

 

In spite of her dark feelings, Tara’s eyes widened in amazement.  “My God, you got all that out in one brea…”  She stopped abruptly, as Spike chuckled. “Never mind. Yes, that’s about it.”

 

“So how do we stop it?” Spike asked.

 

“That’s the tricky part.  Reyem can only be cast out by the one who called it,” Tara grimaced.

 

“Red,” Spike frowned. “*Would* she even do it?”

 

“That depends,” Tara explained.  “She doesn’t know there’s anything wrong with her.  All she knows is that she has all this magical power, and she thinks she got away without any consequences.  She’s not likely to want to give it up.  And the stronger Reyem gets, the less likely it is that she’ll even be *able* to do it.”

 

“She knows what she did.  Surely she can see what it’s doing to her,” Spike frowned again, confused.

 

“No. She really can’t,” Tara interrupted. “She hasn’t noticed the changes in her.  That’s the way it works.  She thinks what she’s doing is what she *wants* to do, even though it’s what Reyem wants her to do.”

 

There was a brief pause before she continued, “And the more this progresses, the more danger everyone will be in.  It will start with everyone surrounding Will and Buffy, beginning with the most vulnerable ones.  Once they’re all destroyed, it will move on to make other connections.  Once Reyem takes over completely, it will be completely unstoppable.  Super-strength *and* incredible magical power.  Nothing but a wake of utter destruction everywhere they go.”

 

“’Til they take out the world, eh, love?” Spike’s smile was grim. “Another apocalypse, then?  And no Slayer to stop it.  Bloody hell, she *is* the apocalypse!”  He paused to think, then said decisively, “Well, we’ve just got to somehow get through to Red. Get her to get rid of this thing, assuming she still can.  So we can get her and Buffy back.  Questions solved.”

 

Tara watched him for a moment, studying him.  Standing abruptly and walking to the kitchen counter, leaning on it with her head bowed, she said softly, “All but one.”

 

“Love?” Spike stood, going to her, concern in his eyes at her tone.

 

Turning toward him just as he reached her, tears in eyes blazing with challenge, she asked, “What will _you_ do once she’s back?”


	18. Chapter 18

Spike searched Tara’s eyes, confused by her question. “What do you mean, love?” he asked, drawing close to her and putting his hands on her hips.

 

Fire blazing in her eyes, refusing to allow herself to be distracted, Tara gently but firmly pushed his hands off of her.  “When Buffy is back to herself again…what will you do?  You know she’s not fully responsible for some of the things she’s done to you…you loved her once, more than anything.  Where does that leave us?”

 

His eyes widened in understanding.  Then, those sapphire eyes, so expressive as always, narrowed in a look that stung her with its hurt and anger.  “Right here, love,” he replied, his face inches from hers, speaking with barely bridled fury.  “Won’t move us a bit. ‘Less of course you let it!”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tara demanded, unable to keep the heat from her voice.

 

“Bloody hell, woman! Do you think that all this time I’ve been with you just because I *couldn’t* be with *her*?” Spike exploded, throwing up his hands in anger and turning, stalking several steps away from her.  “You think I’d kiss you, do the things I’ve done with you, *tell* you I love you if I was still in love with her?”

 

Tara’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know,” she whispered.  “You loved her for years, Spike.  We’ve been together what…a month?”

 

“And in that time,” Spike broke in with an urgent passion in his voice as he rushed back to her, taking her by the arms and pulling her close, his eyes dark with emotion, burning into hers. “you have *loved* me like she *never* did! *Never*!”

 

He released her suddenly, turning away again, but not walking away. “Tara,” he began, frustrated, at a loss for words.  “I—I thought I’d been loved before.  Thought I knew what it meant—what it felt like—to be loved.  But—but I was wrong.”  He faced her again, and this time his eyes were full of tears and adoration, instead of anger and hurt.  “You taught me better, Tara.  You told me and showed me with every breath, every beat, what *real* love is!  It doesn’t hurt, and it doesn’t take.”  He paused, choking back a sob, before pulling her into his arms again, looking her in the eye and continuing in a voice low and intense, “I *love* you, Tara.  And if you think that I would just *take* all that you’ve given me these past weeks and run, tell me now, because if you could think that of me I *will* run back to Buffy and let her kill me now.  I’m *yours*, Tara.  *Yours*.  No one else’s.  You’ve given me more than I can ever repay and I’ll spend the rest of my bloody unlife trying.  I love you.  *I love you*, Tara!”

 

As he spoke, Tara’s tears overflowed down her face; she found her eyes drifting back and forth between his eyes and his lips, until his began to follow the same path, and without either one really meaning to, they met in a desperate kiss.  Tara was desperate to make right what her insecurity had almost ruined; Spike was desperate to show her everything he had just told her as he savored the salty-sweet taste of her tear-soaked lips.

 

When they finally broke apart, Tara smiled dazedly. “Drama queen,” she accused him tenderly, her eyes dancing with joy.

 

“So?” he smirked, kissing her again softly, “You know you love it, pet.”

 

She pulled away slowly, with a little half-nod, half-shrug of helpless admission.  “You’re right.  There’s *nothing* about you I don’t love, Baby.”

 

His lips parted slightly, eyes wide with surprised pleasure.  He was silent for a moment, then took her in his arms again. As he held her close, she heard him whisper what sounded like, “Night and day!”

 

“What?” she asked, pulling away gently,  curiosity in her eyes.

 

“Buffy and you…like night and day…death and life…”  He searched for the right words to explain what he felt.  “So different.  In our best moments, she made me want to die; you make me feel alive.  She made me feel like I was nothing, but you make me feel like I’m everything to you.  Her love made me weak—but with you I’m strong.”

 

Tara’s breath caught in her throat as she pulled him close again, chuckling softly into his ear, “My poet!  You say such beautiful things to me!”

 

And in that moment neither one had ever been happier.

 

Moments later, Spike came crashing back to earth with a frightening realization.

 

“Weak…” he whispered.  “You said they’ll prey on the weak…right?  The most vulnerable?”

 

“Right,” Tara whispered, frowning at the fear in his eyes.  “What is it, Baby?”

 

Spike’s face was stricken with terror, his voice barely above a whisper as he replied, “Dawn!”

  

Dawn hurried up the stairs and to her room, closing the door and locking it behind her.  Buffy was in a rare mood today, slamming doors, banging things around, ranting about Spike and how she’d trusted him, how she’d been so stupid to trust him, how she was going to kill him.  Dawn would have been angry had it not been so *scary*.

 

As soon as she had arrived home, Buffy had locked the door behind her, declaring that she wasn’t to go anywhere, not even to school, until she had “taken care of” Spike.  Buffy claimed she was afraid that he would come after Dawn, and only wanted to be sure that she was safe.

 

But Dawn felt anything but safe.

 

This just felt *wrong* to her, so she locked herself in her room and picked up the phone to call Spike and Tara.  They had said to call if anything weird happened; this definitely qualified.

  

“Is she answering?” Tara asked anxiously.

 

Spike held up a hand for silence, even though the phone had not yet begun to ring.  Suddenly, he hurled the phone against the wall with a loud roar, “Bloody *hell*!!”  He stood there for a moment, breathing hard, regaining control, as a cautious Tara, eyeing him dubiously, went to pick up the phone.

 

He responded to her questioning, reproving look with a sheepish, apologetic grimace, putting a hand to his head. “Sorry, love,” he muttered. “Busy signal.”

 

 “Damn it!” Dawn muttered, hanging up the phone. “Busy!”

 

Just then Buffy stormed through the door, despite the fact that it had been locked, while Dawn’s hand was still on the receiver.

 

“Who were you talking to?” Buffy demanded, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

 

“Janice,” Dawn mumbled, not meeting her sister’s eyes, afraid of what she would see in them.

 

Buffy paused a moment before snapping, “I don’t like Janice!”  She spoke in an odd tone, almost as if she was reminding herself of something she had forgotten.  That said, she turned to go.

 

“Yeah, well, you can’t choose my friends!” Dawn muttered, as she set her phone back on the night stand.

 

She turned to see Buffy, stopping short in the doorway with her back still to Dawn, in a way that made her blood run cold.  Then Buffy turned, a cold smile on her lips, and advanced on her slowly.  Dawn scrambled across the bed, all at once very afraid of her sister, and hastily got to her feet on the opposite side of the bed from Buffy.

 

Buffy stopped beside the bed, one hand on her hip, still smiling at her little sister.  “Oh, yeah?” she sneered.  Then she suddenly picked up the phone and yanked it so hard that she pulled the jack right out of the wall.  Then she hurled the phone against the far wall, over Dawn’s shoulder,  where it seemed to explode,  falling to the floor in dozens of tiny pieces.  Giving it a satisfied look, she turned to address her terrified, speechless sister again.  “We’ll see, Dawnie,” she said calmly with a little shrug, then turned and left the room.

  

Three hours later,  Spike slammed the phone receiver down again, thankfully into the cradle this time.  “Something’s wrong, Tara!” he insisted.  “It’s still busy; they’re never on the phone this long…something is wrong!”

 

“It *does* seem off,” Tara agreed, going to sit beside him on the loveseat.

 

“Isn’t there something you can do?” he implored her.  “Can’t you see if Dawn’s ok, at least, somehow?  Make a link with her like you did with me?”

 

Tara frowned.  “I’m not sure.  It *can* be done.  I mean, not *exactly* like with me and you, with her not being here and all.  I couldn’t know her exact thought or anything, but I should be able to reach out and find her if she’s in some kind of distress.  It would take a lot of concentration, though—focus.  I’d need to be alone for a while, in quiet.”  As she spoke she stood and took a step toward the bedroom.

 

“Ok.  I’ll just stay here and keep trying,” Spike agreed, already dialing again as she closed the door behind her.  At the sound of the busy signal again, he snarled, “Damn it! Bloody hell!”

 

The bedroom door opened and Tara peeked out.  “Baby,” she pointed out gently, a sympathetic smile on her face. “Loud English cursing--*not* helpful to focus.”

 

“Oh—right.  Sorry, love.”

  

Not even ten minutes later, as Spike was hanging up the phone again, restraining his desire to hurl it through the wall or release a string of profanity, in order to allow Tara to work, she suddenly emerged from the bedroom, gasping for breath.

 

“Are you all right, love?” Spike asked, quickly rising and going to her.

 

She nodded, her eyes wide with fear.  “I found her!  You were right, Spike! She’s in danger!  She’s at home, and she’s scared to death!  Something is happening over there, and it’s *not* good!”


	19. Chapter 19

Spike released Tara suddenly and grabbed her car keys off the counter, with a quick glance out the window. “Sun’s set,” he nodded. “We’re going over there!”

 

“No, Spike! She’ll know you’re there!” Tara argued, gasping for breath as she recovered from her trance.

 

“Tara.”  He spoke firmly as he turned back to her.  “I love you. You’re doing a bloody good job of protecting me.  But I have to protect *Dawn*.  I made a promise to a lady a long time ago – even if the lady doesn’t even remember it now.  And I *will* protect her – even if it’s from Buffy.”

 

Tara looked at him for a moment before giving in.  “You’re right. Let’s go,” she agreed, taking her keys from his hand. “But I’m driving.”  As they pulled out of the parking lot, Tara thought desperately, though she knew she couldn’t hear her, *Hang on, Dawnie! We’re coming!*

  

Across town, fifteen minutes earlier, Dawn crept down the stairs, trying to walk softly, not wanting to attract Buffy’s attention.  When she reached the foot of the stairs, Buffy was nowhere in sight.  Dawn rushed toward the front door and opened it, stepping out into the cold night air with relief.

 

Just then, Buffy’s strong hand gripped her arm and yanked her back in with bruising force, dragging her back into the living room.

 

“Ow! Buffy that hurt!” she cried out as her sister shoved her down onto the couch.

 

“Are you crazy, Dawn?” Buffy snapped, shaking her hard. “It’s dark out there! It’s dangerous!  I told you to stay inside!”

 

“Buffy, you’re scaring me!” Dawn choked out in a high, trembling voice, angry, frightened tears streaking her face.  “Buffy, stop it! Let go of me!”

 

Fury in her eyes, Buffy struck her sister across the face, hard.  Dawn was shocked into silence for a long moment, before she began sobbing in pain and fear.

 

“Shut up!” Buffy snarled impatiently.  “I will let go of you when…” She broke off, then started again, calmer. “when you listen to me, Dawn.  I am *trying* to protect you!  Believe it or not, I am doing this for your own good!”  Jerking her up by the arm, Buffy pulled Dawn upstairs to her bedroom, where she shoved her in and closed the door.

 

Shocked and terrified, with no idea what this stranger, her sister, was doing outside that door, Dawn sank down on her bed in panicked tears.

 

Suddenly she heard a familiar voice, coming from inside her head. *Hang on Dawnie, we’re coming!*

 

She was still for a long moment; had she just imagined it?  Cautiously, focusing intently on her thoughts, she attempted to reply.

 

*Tara?*

  

Tara nearly swerved off the road when she heard Dawn’s voice in her head.

 

“And you wanted to drive *why* exactly, love?” Spike asked tersely, staring out the window.  Then he glanced at her apologetically and reached out to take her hand.

 

“I heard Dawn!  She heard me, and she answered!” Tara explained, an elated smile on her face. “I didn’t think I could do it, but…”  Her voice trailed off as Spike turned to her with excitement, hopefully, watching as she tried to focus on Dawn again.

  

*Dawnie? You can hear me?*

 

*Yes! Tara, oh Tara, oh my God!* Dawn sobbed with relief.

 

*What’s happening, Dawnie? Are you ok?*

 

*I – I don’t know! No! Buffy hit me! She hit me, Tara!*

 

There was a brief pause. *Dawnie, honey, I’m so sorry! We’re gonna get you out of there ok?  Where is Buffy now?*

 

*I – I don’t know! She shoved me in my room and shut the door.*

 

*Is it locked?*

 

*I don’t know. I’m afraid to try it! No! She broke the lock earlier! I tried to call you but she broke the phone!*

 

*Oh, Sweetie!* Tara’s voice was sad, sympathetic, and drew fresh tears to Dawn’s eyes. *Ok, let’s think…can you get out your window?*

 

*It’s – it’s pretty high…*

 

*I’m almost to your house.  I’m gonna park around the block and we’ll help you get down, ok?*

 

*Ok.*

  

“We need a distraction,” Tara said to Spike. “We need to help Dawn get out her bedroom window, but it’s really risky if Buffy sees…”

 

Spike smiled grimly, the beginnings of an idea in his eyes.  “Give me your cell phone, love,” he said, holding out his hand.

 

Tara obeyed, a wordless question in her eyes.  They were a block away from the house.

 

“Park here,” Spike ordered softly. “She can’t sense me from here.”  He paused then laughed softly. “I’ll give her a distraction!”

 

“If she sees my number on…” Tara began to object.

 

“*67, Baby,” Spike grinned at her.  Then his smile faded as he said seriously, “Get her out of there as fast as you can.  I’ll keep her on the line ‘til you get back, but she’s gonna be bloody pissed off when she hangs up!”

 

Dawn had not heard anything from Tara for several minutes.  She went to her window and slowly slid it open, careful not to make a sound.  Suddenly, she heard Buffy’s cell phone ring, right outside her door.  She froze.

 

“Hello?” Buffy snapped into the phone.

 

“Hello, cutie.”

 

There was a long pause; then in a softer, calmer voice, she said, “Well isn’t *this* a surprise.  Nice to finally hear from you, Baby.”  He could hear the smirk in her voice across the phone lines.

  

Dawn listened carefully; she could tell by the tone and words that Buffy was talking to Spike.  As she listened, she heard her sister’s voice slowly fading, and then the click as her sister’s bedroom door across the hall closed.  And then she could hear nothing.  But she knew what was going on, and felt safer than she had all night.  Buffy didn’t want her to know, either that she was talking to Spike, or what was being said.

 

*Like I don’t already know she’s a psycho lunatic!* she thought derisively, as she swung one leg over the windowsill.

  

“So where are you calling from, Baby?” Buffy asked softly. “No number on my caller ID.”

 

Spike laughed quietly. “Do you think I’m bloody stupid, love? Don’t answer that.”  His voice suddenly serious, he added, “You don’t need to know that, love.  I’m not letting you hurt me anymore.”

 

“Not a matter of ‘let’, Baby,” Buffy continued, in a voice of cold menace, sending chills up his spine.  Even though he was safe in a car a block away from her, and she had no idea where he was, he found himself glancing around anxiously before he realized what he was doing.  How could her voice alone still hold so much power over him?

 

Buffy continued with a mocking laugh, “I think you should know – I *take* what I want!”

 

Spike swallowed back the sick feeling of fear and shame that threatened to overwhelm him again as Buffy continued, softly, taking advantage of the silence she had stunned him into, filling the empty space with cruel threats and brutal personal comments, shooting daggers through his heart with each word.

 

“You know I’ll find you, don’t you, Baby? Deep down, you know it.  Come on, Sweetheart! I can *feel* you!” Buffy sneered at last.

 

He jumped, looking behind him quickly, feeling his body beginning to shake.

 

“Can’t you feel it, Baby?” Her voice was almost a whisper now, and he imagined that it was coming from right beside him, not over the phone.  “I’ve found you already.”

 

She was silent, as he tried to regain enough control to respond.  Interpreting his silence correctly, she laughed softly, then spoke in a normal tone again, “You know I will.  That’s why you’re shaking.  Looking around, wondering if I’m *really* right there.  I *know* you, Baby! I know all about you, and I know all the places you could hide.  It’s only a matter of time before I find you.  You’re mine, Baby. *Mine*.  Always have been.  Always will be.”

 

Spike took a moment to regain his composure, hating that she knew what he was feeling, how badly she had scared him – hating that she knew all the right words to bring him to just this point.  But finally, she had given him something to work with.

 

“See, there’s where you’re wrong, pet,” he replied at last, his voice low and soft to disguise its trembling. “Haven’t always been yours.  Lived a great deal of time in which I didn’t know you existed.  Bloody hell, lived a great deal of time in which you *didn’t* exist! I’ve loved before you, and I’ll love again, pet. I’ve discovered that during this time apart, and I feel it’s been good for us.”  Now the smirk was in *his* voice, which was growing stronger with every word.  “Contrary to your belief, Buffy Summers, you are *not* the be all and end all.  Not for me.  Not anymore. I’m *not* yours.  Never will be again in fact.  Even if you find me tomorrow and kill me, in *that* way, I’ve escaped you for good, love.”

 

A glance toward her house revealed Tara and Dawn running toward the car.  He reached over and turned on the engine, relishing the sound of Buffy’s stunned silence.  Then he finished, smiling openly now, “Lesson number one, Slayer.  The villain always has to stop and gloat.  And while she’s busy gloating, that’s when the hero sweeps in on his great white horse and rescues the girl.”  He paused, letting his words sink in, then added in a low, seductive tone that always had driven Buffy mad in one way or another, “That one’s on me, love.”

 

“Oh, crap!” he heard Buffy mutter under her breath, followed by a loud thump which was the cell phone being dropped, followed by the sound of her footsteps pounding away, presumably toward Dawn’s room.  The Slayer had figured out the game at last – too late.

 

Spike snapped the phone shut with a satisfying click,  and held it out to Tara as she got into the driver’s seat.  Gently she closed her hand over his, the phone still clasped in it.

 

“Are you ok, Baby?” she asked, her serious, concerned eyes searching his.  She could only guess at the things Buffy would have said to him, the vicious words she would have employed to tear him to pieces without touching him.

 

But Spike’s smile was euphoric; his eyes shone as he returned her gaze. “Ok? I’m more than ok, love.  That was bloody *therapy*!”


	20. Chapter 20

“You should have heard it, Bit!” Spike was almost giddy in his verbal and mental triumph over the Slayer as he turned in his seat to look at Dawn.  “It was bloody fantastic! She never saw it coming!”

 

Dawn did not respond; she was gazing out the window, tears filling her eyes, but not falling.  Frowning with worry, Spike reached back to take the hand resting on her leg.  Without turning to look at him, Dawn automatically pulled her hand away.  There was no anger in the gesture; she just did not want to be touched.

 

Concerned, Spike began, “Niblet?” but was stopped by Tara’s gentle hand on his leg.  He glanced at her questioningly, and her only response was an almost imperceptible shake of her head, as she kept her eyes focused on the road ahead of her.

 

Still frowning, Spike turned back around in his seat, trusting that Tara probably understood Dawn’s feelings better than he could, and knew what she was doing.  They rode the rest of the way in silence.

 

When they reached the apartment, Dawn walked in without a word and dropped down on the loveseat, her arms folded across her chest, staring with bright eyes at the black television screen.

 

“You know,” Spike said dryly, holding out the remote control to her from where he stood beside the loveseat, “that works better if you turn it on, pet.”  Dawn ignored his outstretched hand, her mouth working with repressed emotion.

 

*If he doesn’t stop I’m going to cry and then I won’t be able to stop!* she thought, desperately avoiding his eyes. *God, why can’t he just leave me alone?*

 

Tara was beckoning to him from her bedroom door with an outstretched hand, but he shook his head at her and walked into the kitchen.  Tara looked anxious, but she closed the bedroom door to give them some privacy.  Spike poured himself a mug of blood, and a glass of Pepsi for Dawn, glancing back at her as he did. She was still just sitting there in stony silence.  He took his time pouring the drinks, as he still had absolutely no idea what to say to her.

 

*Maybe Tara’s right,* he thought. *Maybe she needs her space. Maybe I should just leave her alone to--*

 

“Oh, sod it all!” he muttered to himself as he left the drinks on the counter and went to Dawn’s side decisively.

 

Standing directly in front of her, arms crossed, he demanded, “What’s this then, Bit?  You gonna talk to me?”

 

“No!” Dawn spat out in irritation, standing up to move away from him.

 

As she stood, he pulled her forcefully into his arms and held her there.

 

Dawn was livid. “Let me go!” she snarled, pounding his chest with hard little fists, struggling against him as tears poured from her eyes. “Let go of me!”

 

But Spike only held her, his embrace not tightening, but remaining firm. “There, Bit. That’s it. Go on, let it out,” he spoke soothingly to her. “You don’t have to fight it; let me be strong *for* you, pet!”

 

Losing control under the power of his voice, his arms, Dawn screamed, “Get your hands off me! I hate you!” as she continued to pound ineffectually and struggle to get free. “I hate you!”

 

Tara suddenly appeared in the doorway, an expression of alarm on her face.  But at that moment, Dawn broke down completely, and her furiously flailing fists became desperately clutching fingers against his chest.

 

“I hate her! I hate her!” Dawn sobbed, collapsing against him. “Oh, my God, Spike! Spike!”

 

“I’m here, love. I’ve got you,” he whispered, holding her close, rubbing her back with one hand as her tears flowed freely at last.

 

Suddenly she looked up at him with wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “Oh my God, Spike! I hit you! I hit you! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”  Her voice was barely a whisper; in her confused, panicked state she saw no difference between her sister’s systematic abuse and her uncontrolled emotional reaction.

 

“No, no, Bit,” he shook his head, frowning. “None of that, now. I’ve been through a lot worse than that, love.” He paused, stroking a tear from her cheek with his thumb, compassion in his eyes. “*You’ve* been through a lot worse, pet.”  He pulled her back to him, whispering, “It’s all right. It’s all right, love. There now, Dawnie, that’s all right. Go ahead.”

 

As he spoke his eyes met Tara’s over Dawn’s head, and he was stunned and thrilled by the obvious adoration he saw there.

 

*My baby,* she sent the words to him in her mind. *You are so much wiser than I am.*

 

*Just know her better, love,* he corrected,  shaking his head slightly. *Been bottling up all that rage – trying not to cry and all that rot—well, bugger that! Bit had to lt it out.*

 

She was still letting it out, sobbing out unintelligible words of hurt and anger and sorrow, now directed not at him, but at her sister, the true cause of her rage and pain.  Still holding her, Spike led her to the loveseat and sat down with her, where she leaned her head on his chest as he gently ran his fingers through her hair.

 

Tara stood uncertainly in the bedroom doorway.  Spike beckoned to her with one hand, and she hesitantly went to him, unsure if she should intrude on their moment.  Slowly, she walked to Spike’s side and sat down on the arm of the loveseat.  Putting one arm around his shoulder, she reached cautiously to place her hand on Dawn’s, afraid that the girl would pull it away.  After all, they had been getting closer recently, but had nothing even approaching the bond Dawn shared with Spike.

 

But then Dawn clutched at her hand, gripping it tightly and pulling it in to rest, intertwined with her own, against Spike’s chest. And suddenly all of Tara’s fears dissipated with the warm glow of the connection the three of them now shared.  They felt like a family, forged in pain and sorrow, but strong together.  And together they would meet this challenge and find the solution.

  

An hour later, they were gathered around the books again, trying to find the solution.  Now that Dawn was “missing” and Buffy could legitimately say that Spike had taken her – even that he had *admitted* taking her – it was not safe for either of them to go out at all.  Tara had told Buffy that she had to work, and couldn’t be at the Scoobie meeting that night, but she could just imagine how *that* went.

 

If Willow’s decline along Reyem’s course was anything like Buffy’s, they could be sure that getting her to reverse the ritual would be a near impossibility.  There had to be another way, and they were determined to find it.

 

“Maybe we should try calling Giles,” Tara suggested.

 

Spike scoffed, “Watcher-Boy? Please! *If* he even knows anything about this Reyem beastie, do you think he’s going to listen to me and you over the Slayer and Red?”

 

Tara shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt to try.”

 

“Yes,” Spike said slowly, drawing out the word in an overly patient way. “it could. I can’t call him; he’d never trust me.  If Dawn called him he’d just think she was panicking over nothing, treat her like a child.  And if you call, love…granted, you’ve got a bit more credibility than either of us…but still…don’t you think whatever you tell him he’s gonna wanna check it out with Buffy? And then the secret’s out, and this place is not longer safe.”

 

Tara was silent as she thought it through.  “You’re right,” she sighed. “It’s too big a risk.  Well, there’s got to be something we’re overlooking.”

 

“There is,” Dawn said suddenly from her place on the floor.  There was a brief pause as both Tara and Spike looked at her.  Her eyes were wide with a growing realization.

 

“What is it, Dawnie?” Tara asked softly, concerned by the look in Dawn’s eyes.

 

“You said only the person that this Reyem thing is in can get rid of it, right?” Dawn asked cautiously.

 

“Well…yes.”

 

“So…then *Buffy* could do it, too, right? Not just Willow?”

 

Tara’s eyes widened. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that.”  She paused, thinking.  “The ritual requires the blood and will of the host…that would be Buffy, too, yeah. But she’d have to want to, Sweetie…”

 

“And she’s too far gone, pet,” Spike finished, reaching to place his hand comfortingly on Dawn’s shoulder.

 

Dawn shook her head, excitement in her eyes. “I know…but…this may sound crazy, but…in this weird cosmic way that I don’t really understand…I sort of…*am* Buffy! The monks made me from her, right? Our blood is the same. She jumped in my place and it worked—it closed the portal! So why couldn’t *I* do the reversal ritual?”

 

Spike and Tara met each other’s eyes.  His were full of astonished excitement; hers were filled with apprehension.

 

“That just might work,” Spike murmured, his eyes wide, thinking it through.

 

Tara nodded slowly. “But the ritual—Dawnie, it’s hard, and it’s painful, and it’s very dangerous.”

 

“And sitting here hiding from my own sister so she doesn’t decide to go psycho and kill me—that’s not at all painful or dangerous,” Dawn pointed out, eyebrows raised, arms crossed.

 

“She’s got a point there, love,” Spike admitted with a shrug. “It may be the only way.”

 

Tara was silent for a moment.  She took a deep breath,  then said softly, “There’s more.”

 

“What?” Dawn asked, frowning, seeing the hesitation in her eyes.

 

Tara seemed to be struggling for words.  “The reversal will not be easy on Buffy or Willow, either.  With Willow – it’s hard to say what it will do her, exactly.  Emotionally, mentally, it could break her completely to have this thing that’s so intertwined with her self ripped out – there’s no telling if she’ll even be…” She paused, shaking her head, searching for the word.

 

“Her?” Spike finished quietly, his eyes serious, and Tara nodded slowly.

 

Dawn took that in before asking in a voice of steel, “What about Buffy?”

 

Tara took a moment to gather her words before she said softly, “Willow used this thing to give Buffy back her life.  Without it she couldn’t have come back. If it is taken out of her…”  She couldn’t finish.

 

“You’re saying Buffy could die,” Dawn broke in, tears shining in her eyes. “Again,” she added in a whisper.

 

Reaching out to take her hand, Tara said softly, “You don’t have to do this, Dawnie. It’s dangerous, it’s a lot of risk, so much could go wrong. It’s really too much to ask of you. We’ll find another way.”

 

Spike was silent.  He agreed with Tara; this truly was too much to ask of the girl, and he did not want to push her into doing it.  But he couldn’t help but think…

 

“What if there *is* no other way?” Dawn spoke calmly now, meeting Tara’s eyes with determination beyond her years.

 

Tara’s gaze faltered under the intensity in her eyes. “There may not be,” she admitted. “If Reyem is allowed to stay in them much longer – they’ll be virtually unstoppable.  Through them, he’ll destroy everything and everyone around them, and in the end, destroy them too.”

 

There was silence for a moment before Dawn spoke quietly. “I need to think. I need to be alone.”

 

Tara gestured toward her room and nodded her permission.

 

Silently Dawn got up and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.


	21. Chapter 21

“Do you think she’s all right?” Tara asked anxiously, glancing at her closed bedroom door, before looking up at Spike. They were snuggled up together on the loveseat. The television was on in front of them – the classic movie channel was showing *Psycho* -- but the sound was turned down, and neither one of them was really watching it.  
  
  
  
“She will be, love,” he said softly, playing idly with her hair as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s a lot to puzzle out. You’re right. It’s a bloody heavy load for a child, a decision like this.” He paused. “Not sure I could have made it myself, if Buffy’d only gone as far with me as she went with Dawn.”  
  
  
  
Tara looked up, searching his eyes. “But now you could?”  
  
  
  
“Not sayin’ it’d be easy, love,” he shrugged, frowning. “But I – I’ve seen enough to know…” His voice broke off as he thought about the right words to use. His expression distant, remembering, he continued, “Back when she first came back – I was pretty bloody furious with the lot of you. I knew Red kept me out of it for a reason. Knew I was too attached to Buffy, wouldn’t let her end it if – Buffy came back wrong. But – but that’s it, love. Buffy *came* back wrong. Only alive ‘cause of this nasty inside her, when she should be at peace – enjoying her reward. This thing, holding her here, doing these awful things in her body, it’s – it’s insulting to her memory is what it is.”  
  
  
  
Tara was silent for a few moments. “Maybe it’s for the best. That’s what you’re saying, right? Buffy never should have come back – and if she – doesn’t make it – it might be better for her. She could be – back in heaven.”  
  
  
  
Spike nodded slowly. Then he let out a heavy sigh. “Don’t know if all that’d be so clear to me if she was my sister, though.”  
  
  
  
Just then the door to the bedroom swung slowly open. Dawn stood there, a blank sort of expression on her face. She was pale, and a dark bruise had appeared on her face where Buffy had struck her. Her face was tear-streaked and her hair was disheveled. But there was a determined look in her eyes as she approached them.  
  
  
  
“I’m going to do it,” she said in a raspy whisper that sounded very loud in the quiet room. “It’s what Buffy would do. This – this isn’t her – not really. It’s what she’d want me to do.”  
  
  
  
Sitting up, pulling away from Spike, Tara held out her arms to Dawn, who stood there trembling, her eyes filling with fresh tears. She gently pulled the girl down to nestle between her and Spike. Spike wrapped his arms around her and she leaned her head on his chest, sobbing softly, as he murmured soothing nonsensical sounds into her ear, until, exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed, she fell asleep in his arms.  
  
  
  
“Let’s get her to bed, shall we?” he said softly, and Tara helped him to rise with the sleeping girl in his arms. As he laid her down on the bed and pulled the blankets up around her shoulders, brushing a stray lock of silky brown hair back from her face, he said to Tara, “You ladies take the bed tonight. I’ve got the sofa.”  
  
  
  
Tara frowned. “It’s not much of a sofa, Sweetie.”  
  
  
  
He shrugged. “’M all right, love.” He smiled down at her, but the smile was forced, and his eyes were distant and full of pain.  
  
  
  
Tara’s wide grey eyes saw right through his façade, and she suddenly pulled him to her. He tensed in surprise for a moment, then surrendered, laying his head on her shoulder with a sigh.  
  
  
  
“It’s all right, you know,” she whispered. “not to want to lose her again.”  
  
  
  
He pulled his head up with a start, staring at her with wide eyes, blinking back tears. Then he sighed again and smiled sadly. “You can’t lose what you never had, love – what you only – thought you had.” Reaching down to tenderly touch her cheek, he went on, “This – this is what I’m afraid to lose.”  
  
  
  
Reaching up to place her hand over his, Tara smiled into his eyes and whispered, “You’ll never lose this.” She pulled his hand from her cheek, holding it tight in her own as she leaned in to kiss him softly, slowly, then pulled away and promised, “It’s yours. Forever.”  
  
  
  
The next afternoon found Spike and Dawn alone in the apartment. Tara was at work until 9:00, at which point they would put their plan into action. Tara had explained the ritual to them; it required only one material thing – a specific urn in which Reyem’s presence would have been housed before it had been placed in Willow and Buffy. Tara was sure that Willow would have it, and planned to come home after work just to check in and be sure everything was still in order, then go to Buffy’s under the pretense of needing some things she had left in Willow’s room. Then she would find the urn and return, at which point they would perform the ritual.  
  
  
  
But until then, Spike and Dawn had time to kill. Thus they found themselves playing a game of poker on the coffee table.  
  
  
  
“You little cheater!” Spike snarled good-naturedly.  
  
  
  
“I learned from the best,” she winked at him as she scooped up the pile of chips from the center of the table. “You should be proud of me.”  
  
  
  
His smile became warm and his voice softened as he replied, “Always, pet.”  
  
  
  
Dawn beamed at his words.  
  
  
  
Just then the phone rang. They exchanged a nervous glance; neither moved, as they listened to the ringing and the soft, musical sound of Tara’s voice on the answering machine.  
  
  
  
“Hey, Spike,” a nervous male voice said. “I know you’re there, pick up!”  
  
  
  
Quickly Spike picked up the phone from the end table beside him. “Who is this?” he demanded, as Dawn cringed. She was not at all sure that answering the phone had been his smartest option.  
  
  
  
“Willie.”  
  
  
  
“Willie the snitch?” Spike said in disbelief. “How did you get this number? Why are you calling me here?”  
  
  
  
“I got this guy here, see – he gave me the number. Said he knows about your problem with the Slayer, and he can help. Asked me to call you,” Willie explained hurriedly.  
  
  
  
“Yeah, well, got the problem under control already, see, mate. Me and the Slayer don’t see each other any more,” Spike snapped.  
  
  
  
“Not that problem, Spike,” Willie rushed to cut in before he could hang up. “He said to mention the words ‘Reyem Rasco’. Said you’d know what he was talking about.”  
  
  
  
Spike felt his heart nearly drop through the floor. “What?” he repeated in a near-whisper.  
  
  
  
“He said he has a way to fix the problem *and* save the girl.”  
  
  
  
Spike was silent for a long moment, taking this in. If there was any chance that they could defeat this thing, *and* save Buffy…He glanced at Dawn. If he could spare her the pain of this decision she had made…  
  
  
  
“Where can I find this guy?” he asked.  
  
  
  
“He said to tell you to meet him here at 7:00. If you’re interested,” Willie replied.  
  
  
  
“I’m interested. Tell him I’ll meet him,” he agreed without hesitation, then hung up the phone without another word.  
  
  
  
“Who was that? Where are you going?” Dawn asked, in a small, scared voice.  
  
  
  
“Someone who might be able to help us, Niblet,” he said softly, thinking.  
  
  
  
Tara was supposed to be home in a couple of hours, at which time she would get the urn, and then they would do the ritual. If there was a way to solve this without doing the ritual, he had to act fast and find it before it was time.  
  
  
  
“Help how?” Dawn asked, standing up as he pulled on his coat with a glance at the clock. 6:40.  
  
  
  
“Is Buffy working tonight?” he asked her without answering.  
  
  
  
“Yes. Thursday. She works until close,” Dawn answered automatically, sick with worry. “What’s going on?”  
  
  
  
Forcing himself to calm down and turn to smile at her, he took her gently in his arms and said, “Nothing to worry about, Bit. Your sis is working. I’ll steer clear of the Doublemeat Palace and I’ll be back before you know it.” Then he let her go and hurried out the door before she could ask any more questions.  
  
  
  
He didn’t want her to know what Willie had said, just in case it turned out to be a false hope – in which case he would pound the little creep into the ground, chip or no chip. And he didn’t want to tell her where he was going, in case she decided to follow him. It would be too dangerous for her, and even if she wanted to help, she would only get in his way. He had important business to take care of.  
  
  
  
He was going to see a man about a girl.  
  
  
  
If he had not been so focused on saving Buffy and Dawn – story of his life – he would have noticed the unusually quiet, nervous atmosphere as he walked into Willie’s. Several sets of eyes turned to focus on him, but that was nothing unusual. He stepped straight up to the bar and without preamble grabbed Willie by the collar and yanked him halfway across the bar, careful not to actually hurt him. It would be a bad time for a headache.  
  
  
  
“Where’s this guy?” he demanded.  
  
  
  
Willie gave him a strangely apologetic look. “He – he couldn’t make it…” he stammered, then, strangely, added in a quieter voice, “I – I’m sorry, Spike…”  
  
  
  
Alarms went off in his head, and he released Willie suddenly, backing a few steps toward the door before turning to go.  
  
  
  
He turned right into a smiling Slayer.  
  
  
  
“Going so soon, Baby?” she smirked. “But I just got here!” Her smile hardening, she shoved him backward, and he fell onto a barstool behind him. God, she was strong! Well, fighting her was no longer an option…  
  
  
  
His mind racing, fighting off panic, he looked frantically around for any means of escape. As if seeing his thoughts, Buffy shook her head reprovingly as she came forward to take his arm in a brutally tight grip, leaning in to say softly, “You’re not going anywhere.”  
  
  
  
She turned him around on the stool to face Willie, smiling at the nervous bartender as she put her arm possessively around Spike’s waist. Instinctively he pulled away slightly, but her arm was like steel. “Thanks for all the help, Willie. Couldn’t have done it without you.” Her voice was cheerful. Glancing around the room, she smirked back at him, Send me a bill for the damages.”  
  
  
  
Spike glanced around at the room, noticing for the first time its disarray. It had obviously experienced a recent Slayer-rampage. It was all coming together now, in spite of the haze of fear that clouded his mind. Buffy had come in here, threatening Willie, probably terrorizing his patrons, showing off her new-and-improved super-strength, and had made Willie help her trap him. Not that Willie wouldn’t have done it anyway for ten bucks, he thought in disgust. But how did she know? he wondered.  
  
  
  
His thoughts were cut off as she jerked him suddenly to his feet, her arm still a band of iron about his waist. “Take a walk with me, Baby,” she murmured suggestively, but there was pure menace in her eyes.  
  
  
  
As they stepped out into the night air, Spike found his voice at last. “Buffy…” he began.  
  
  
  
Instantly he found himself slammed with bone-shattering force against the wall, and an impossibly powerful fist struck him in the face. Leaning into his face, completely calm, smiling, Buffy ordered softly, “Shut up.”  
  
  
  
He nodded quickly to show her that he intended to obey, and she took him by the arm again and dragged him along, stumbling, still seeing stars from the blow, as she forced him to walk ahead of her down the street.  
  
  
  
*Tara, Tara, please!* he sent out desperately.  
  
  
  
No response.  
  
  
  
*Oh, God, Tara, please, I need you!*  
  
  
  
Still nothing.  
  
  
  
Buffy smiled at him coldly. “Not picking up?” she asked conversationally. “Maybe you’ve lost the signal.”  
  
  
  
He looked back at her sharply in shock, the unspoken question in his widening eyes.  
  
  
  
“I’m friends with a witch too, Baby,” she reminded him. “One who recently took a little trip in your friend’s mind and found out some very interesting things. My friend did a little blocking spell on your 911-line. It’s out of service at the moment.” She stopped suddenly and yanked him back with an arm tight across his throat as she added in a whisper very near his ear, “I don’t think I’m as close to my friend as you are to yours, though.” She paused, then went on in a chilling tone, “You know what happens to men who cheat, Baby? Nothing even *close* to what’s going to happen to you. You’re a lot harder to kill.”  
  
  
  
When she released him suddenly, he nearly fell forward, shaking uncontrollably as his hope faded away. Returning her hand to his shoulder tightly and pressing a driving fist against the small of his back so that he gasped in pain, she snarled, “Move.”  
  
  
  
He obeyed, having no choice. They walked in silence the rest of the way to her house. Xander’s car was parked outside. As they reached the porch, Buffy yanked him back again, her voice a menacing whisper against his ear. “You’re gonna keep your mouth shut about your little theory in here, aren’t you, Baby?”  
  
  
  
He nodded quickly, terrified, and choked back a silent sob as she twisted his arm painfully up behind his back. *Oh God, oh God, Tara!*  
  
  
  
“They wouldn’t believe you anyway. You’d only make me angry. And you’re in enough trouble already,” she finished before dragging him up the porch steps.  
  
  
  
Opening the door, she gestured grandly with her arm, her overly polite smile masking the cruelty in her eyes. Her voice was oddly warm and her eyes glittered with vicious intent as she spoke again.  
  
  
  
“Come in, Baby.”


	22. Chapter 22

Anya and Xander looked up from where they were huddled together on the sofa as Buffy shoved Spike ahead of her into the living room, shocked expressions on their faces as they took it in.  Xander’s shock visibly gave way to fury, however, as he rose and came to stand directly in front of the blonde vampire.

 

He drew back his fist and struck him, and demanded in a voice of pure hatred, “Where is she, you sick little pervert?  What did you do to her, you disgusting freak of nature?”  He drew back his fist to strike again, infuriated by Spike’s silence, but Buffy moved to stand between them, facing Xander, turning her back toward Spike.

 

“I’ve got it, Xander,” she said in a soft, calming tone. God, but she was good, Spike thought. She was right; they would never believe him if he tried to explain.  She could convince them of anything.  But her back was to him, now, and the front door was standing open still…maybe…

 

He had almost reached the door when she caught him, slinging him back so hard that his back hit the banister of the staircase, sending a jolt of searing pain down his spine that sent him to his knees.  Crouching down beside him, she put a deceptively gentle hand on his cheek; he flinched. She smiled, but her eyes were full of rage as she said softly, “Are you gonna try that again, Sweetheart?”

 

He shook his head, looking away from her, unable to face the menace in her eyes.

 

Buffy stood up straight and turned back toward Xander.  Beside her, Spike struggled to rise back to his feet, gasping for breath as he slowly recovered from the pain.  But Buffy calmly, without turning, placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.  The unspoken order was clear enough; he was not to move until she told him he could.

 

As Buffy told Xander her version of what had happened – some long, melodramatic tale involving Spike’s ordering her to meet him at Willie’s if she wanted to see Dawn alive again – he looked around the room, breathing hard, trying to get his bearings.  He suddenly noticed Anya – still sitting on the couch, staring at him with wide, stricken eyes.

 

Anya always had seemed uncomfortable with the way the others treated Spike.  Probably had something to do with the fact that, but for a punishment placed on her by her former boss, it could as easily be her in his place, the object of the constant abuse and ridicule.  And now, was it his imagination inventing false hopes, or did she look terribly distressed by what was happening?

 

He urgently sought her eyes until they met his. Then he moved his lips in a silent plea, behind Buffy’s back while her attention was focused on Xander. “Help me,” he mouthed the words, desperation in his eyes.

 

Anya did not know what to do.  For some reason this felt so wrong to her, and sure, she didn’t have a lot of experience with human emotion and intuition, but she would never have thought that Spike would ever hurt Dawn, and now, as he knelt on the floor at Buffy’s feet, beaten and helpless, she could not imagine that he was even capable of such a thing.  Buffy was the one who was frightening her, with her calm, smooth words and tones with were the exact opposite to her violent actions.  Spike’s face was bruised and bleeding, so she had obviously hurt him at some point on the way from Willie’s to her house, yet now, she was so calm and together – wasn’t that supposed to be a sign of – evil or – or mental illness or something?  Extreme mood swings and drastic shifts in behavior?  She couldn’t remember.  Being human was so hard sometimes.

 

But faced with the unmistakable terror in Spike’s eyes as he looked up at her imploringly from his place on the floor, she made her decision in a moment, and hoped it was the right one.  With an almost imperceptible nod, she agreed to his plea.

 

“Get Tara,” he mouthed back to her again, relief now showing through the fear on his face.

 

Anya nodded again, just slightly, and a surge of relief washed over him.  At least he knew that Tara would know where he was.  He could only hope that the girls could pull off the ritual quick, before Buffy could finish with him.  But the cruel, self-satisfied smile she gave him as she hauled him to his feet by his shirt collar and toward the stairs to the basement, told him that that was not going to be a problem.

 

She was planning to take her time.

 

The thought was not comforting.

  

Dawn greeted Tara at the door, so frantic that it was difficult for Tara to understand her at first.  Spike had still not come back, and the girl was in tears.

 

Tara looked sick. “And he didn’t tell you where he was going?” she asked, shaking her head, fear in her eyes.

 

Dawn shook her head. “He’s been gone more than two hours, Tara! What if Buffy found him? What if --?”

 

“Dawnie, honey, shh,” Tara comforted her, pulling her into her arms. “We’re gonna find him, it’s gonna be ok.”  But she was not at all sure herself.

 

*Spike…Spike where are you?* she called frantically.  But there was only silence in response to her thought.  That was not a good sign.

 

Suddenly there was a loud insistent knocking on the apartment door.  Premature relief flooded her as she hurried to open the door. *It’s him, it’s him, it has to be!* she told herself, hoping against hope that it was.

 

She could not conceal her disappointment when she opened the door and saw Anya standing there.  “Come in,” she said automatically, stepping out of the way to allow her to enter…and then remembering Dawn, standing right in the middle of the living room!  The others were not supposed to know where she was!  Tara glanced anxiously at Anya to gauge her reaction to Dawn’s presence here, in her apartment.

 

Anya frowned as she said, “I knew Spike didn’t kidnap you like Buffy said…” Her voice trailed off.  Then she continued thoughtfully, gesturing toward Tara, “But maybe he did kidnap her and you helped, since he’s the one who sent me here? But why would you want to kidnap Dawn when…”

 

“Anya,” Tara broke in impatiently, her eyes wide. “Spike sent you here? Where is he?”

 

“He’s at Buffy’s house, and Buffy’s acting like a mental patient and Xander’s hitting him for no good reason because it’s the only thing he can do to help and it makes him feel less insignificant…except it’s not…helping…” Her voice trailed off again at the stunned expressions of both girls’ faces.  Dawn’s was quickly giving way to utter panic.

 

“Buffy has him! Oh my God! Tara we have to go…”  The girl was already headed for the door.

 

“No!” Tara said forcefully, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her back, leaning down to look her in the eye. “Dawnie, no! What you need to do right now is calm down.  The last thing we need is for Buffy to get you back too!”

 

Dawn was furious by now, tears streaking her face. “I am *not* going to leave him there for her to do whatever she wants to him!”

 

“No…*we’re* not, Dawn,” Tara continued, a calm assurance in her eyes.  And something else that silenced Dawn, and sent a shiver of familiar remembrance down Anya’s spine.

 

Tara was radiating a sense of unmistakable power.

 

“Anya, can you stay here with Dawn?” Tara asked, turning to her quickly, not yet releasing Dawn.

 

Anya nodded slowly, watching the other woman cautiously.  She had always known that *Willow* had power; you couldn’t help but notice it, the girl exercised it so frequently, made it such a focus in her life.  But she had never seen it so obvious in Tara before, and it was vaguely unsettling to her.

 

“Fill her in, Dawnie. Spike trusted her enough to send her here. That’s good enough for me.  We may need her help with the ritual. I’m going to your house, and I’m not coming back without Spike,” Tara continued, holding Dawn’s gaze.

 

What Dawn saw there was reassuring.  Suddenly, her sister did not seem so unstoppable as she had previously thought.  The look on Tara’s face actually almost made her feel sorry for her sister – almost.  She would not want to be on the receiving end of the growing fury in Tara’s eyes.

 

Dawn agreed with a nod. “Ok.”

 

“I’ll get the urn while I’m there, and we’ll get this thing done,” Tara finished.

 

Dawn nodded again, and Tara pulled her too her in a tight hug before letting her go. “I’ll be back soon,” she said as she turned to go.  As she shut the door behind her, a determined fire in her eyes, she declared, “*Nobody* messes with my boyfriend!”

  

Locked in Buffy’s basement, his wrists shackled behind his back in heavy iron manacles, attached to the wall behind him by a thick, three-foot long chain, Spike waited for the Slayer to return.  After chaining him up down here, she had gone back upstairs to see her friends off.  But from what he could hear of what was happening upstairs, Xander and Anya had left a long time ago. 

 

He tried to figure whether or not Anya would have had to time to get clear of Xander and get to Tara’s apartment yet.  Surely the girl would have enough sense not to let the whelp know what she was doing.  He would only be against it.  A new fear went through him at that thought. What if she *had* told Xander, and he had talked her out of it? Or worse, told Buffy?

 

At that moment, he heard the basement door swing slowly open and soft, slow footsteps on the stairs.  Awkwardly he stumbled to his feet; he did not want to be at any greater disadvantage than he had to be when she reached him.

 

She approached him slowly, smiling, in no hurry.  She knew that she had him exactly where she wanted him, like a cat cruelly toying with its prey, merely prolonging the agony of its death.

 

She slowly, boldly, looked him up and down before meeting his eyes with mockery in her own. “I’ve missed you,” she said suggestively, taking a couple more slow steps.

 

What he saw in her eyes chilled him through. *No…no…no…*  He could feel panic building, tried to fight it back.  Tried to think of Tara.

 

Her smile fading instantly to a thin, hard line, she ordered coldly, “On your knees.”

 

A sick sense of revulsion swept over him. *No, no, no! She can’t!*  Steadying himself, he stood his ground. *I’m not your toy anymore, Buffy,* he said in his mind, as he still had not found the courage to say it to her face, despairing because even in his mind he didn’t sound sure.  But he forced himself to meet her eyes, and did not obey.

 

Buffy’s lips pursed in annoyance, and he could see the rage building in her eyes, but she just shrugged. “All right. If that’s the way you want it, Baby…”  Suddenly she struck him brutally in the face, then followed the blow with a vicious kick to his ribs that dropped him where he stood.

 

Coughing, choking on his own blood, he struggled to pull himself back up to his knees, as she said softly, laughingly, “You always did choose the hard way, didn’t you, Baby?”

 

Kneeling now, as she had commanded, but only trying to get his bearings before standing again, he struggled to make his eyes focus through the spinning stars that danced in his vision.  When he could finally see again, she was standing so close that her body was mere inches from his face. *Oh, God, no, please, no!*

 

His stomach was churning with fear, as he was faced with this repetition of the scene over a month ago, when he had been so brutally assaulted by her.  He could feel the trembling starting in his hands, and began to scramble backward away from her in desperation.

 

But she reached out a hand of steel and gripped the back of his head, holding him there in her relentless grip, as she laughed cruelly at his terror.  He was shaking uncontrollably now, shaking his head in a silent plea, his eyes shut against it.

 

But she just held him there, as if just to prove to him that she could, and he dared to open his eyes again.  Looking up at her with wide, shock-filled eyes, he saw the vicious pleasure in her eyes at the power she held over him.

 

Ruthlessly her strong hand on his head pulled him an inch or so closer to her, and a fresh wave of panic washed over him; he could feel tears of shame and desperation forming in his eyes.

 

Then, not releasing her grip, she crouched down so that now her face was level with his.  Her cold, piercing green eyes forced his to look up at the cruel smirk on her face.  Then, once she knew she had his full attention focused on her, she said in a deadly, still voice, “I thought you said you weren’t going to let me touch you anymore, Baby.”  There was a challenge in her eyes, demanding a response.

 

Trembling uncontrollably, utterly broken, he whispered, barely audible, “Please…please no, Buffy…please don’t!”  His tears flowed freely now, and he was shaking his head just slightly, pleadingly.

 

Buffy smiled at him with mock-affection, then leaned in to slowly kiss him, her vicious fingers tangled in his hair forcing him to submit to the kiss, her tongue shoving past his trembling lips in a ruthless invasion .  When she pulled away she watched him for a moment, trembling, on his knees, at her mercy.  Then she released him, stood up, regarding him like the thing beneath her she had always told him he was.

 

Her voice soft, as if she were bestowing some great mercy, she decided, “Not tonight.”  Then she turned and walked back up the stairs.

 

The moment he heard the basement door close behind her, he collapsed back against the wall behind him, sobbing.  And though he knew it would not be heard, his heart sent out a desperate cry.

 

*Oh, Tara, Tara, please hurry!*


	23. Chapter 23

Tara stalked down the sidewalk toward Buffy’s house, feeling the latent power within her rising, strengthening, feeding off her anger and determination.  She felt powerful, capable on taking on Buffy – and taking her out if necessary.  She was *not* going to let Buffy hurt Spike anymore, no matter what she had to do!

 

Hyper-aware of her surroundings, as her power coursed through her, she suddenly stopped short on the sidewalk, eyes blazing with fury. “Willow, you do *not* want to mess with me right now!” she said in a low, deadly voice.

 

Holding up her hands in a teasing you-got-me gesture, Willow stepped out from the alley in front of her, smiling. “Funny.  I thought that was *exactly* what I wanted to do. And you used to know me so well,” she smirked, crossing her arms, blocking Tara’s path.

 

Tara met her eyes, her own narrowed in impatient anger. “Look, Will,” she said sarcastically. “I’d love to stay and have this little chat with you.  But I’m a little busy at the moment. I’ll catch you later.” With a flick of Tara’s wrist, Willow was slammed against the wall of the building beside them, out of Tara’s way, and she continued down the sidewalk.

 

When Willow pulled herself away from the wall, her eyes were black with rage and magic.  “Sorry, Sweetie,” she replied in a hard voice. “I’m gonna be busy later. I say…” She held both hands out toward Tara, releasing a jolt of incredible power that slammed into her and sent her sailing ten feet across the sidewalk before she hit the ground, hard.  “we talk now,” Willow finished with a smile.

  

*Tara? Tara are you there yet?* Dawn sent out the anxious call.  But there was no response.  It had only been half an hour since Tara had left, but Dawn was terribly worried.

 

She was even more worried now, now that Tara was not responding to her mental call.  Turning to Anya she said softly, her eyes shadowed with fear, “She’s not answering. Something’s wrong.”

 

Anya frowned. It certainly wasn’t a *good* sign. Dawn had filled her in on what had been going on, and she had actually felt pretty dumb for not having seen it already.  She was familiar with Reyem Rasco – had even seen it before, a few hundred years ago – and felt embarrassed that she had not recognized it earlier.

 

“Willow’s out there, too, somewhere,” Dawn realized aloud, looking away, thinking.  “We’ve been so focused on Buffy, but Willow must be getting stronger, too.  What if Tara runs into her out there?”

 

Remembering Tara’s expression when she left, and the power she had sensed flowing off of her, Anya replied in a grim voice, “I think she can hold her own.”

  

The red-haired witch found herself slammed yet again against a solid brick wall by a tremendous force, face-first this time, and crumpled to the ground.  She struggled to her feet to face the blonde standing across from her, panting with her exertion, but still determined.

 

Facing her opponent again, Willow laughed harshly, wiping blood from her mouth.  Observing Tara’s exhaustion, she took a step toward her, sneering, “Well I don’t know about *you*, little girl, but *I’m* warmed up! Ready to fight now?”

 

Tara tried not to show it, but the comment frightened her. As much as she hated to admit it, as much as her rage still coursed through her with a desire to tear down this obstacle keeping her from her purpose, she had to face it.  Her power was waning. Willow was just too strong.

 

“Willow,” she gasped, frustration in her voice. “I have to go.”

 

“Oh, that’s right,” Willow smiled, her tone mocking. “You have to go save your pathetic little boyfriend!” She practically spat out the last word and her smile was gloating as she said, “Don’t waste your time. He’s probably dead already.”

 

Fury flashing in her eyes, Tara snarled, “For Buffy’s sake he’d better not be!”

 

Willow shrugged. “Maybe not. It’s been a while for those two lovebirds. I’m sure they’re having a cozy reunion…getting to know each other again…” Her mocking tone hardened as she gave Tara a cruelly suggestive smile. “I bet they’re having a wonderful time – at least, *Buffy’s* enjoying herself!”

 

It had not even occurred to Tara before this that Buffy and Willow might have knowledge of things the other had experienced, maybe even share the same thoughts, because of the thing in them both. All she knew was that it enraged her to hear Willow’s heartlessly mocking tone alluding to the things Spike had suffered at Buffy’s hands. 

 

Though some part of her knew she needed to reserve her power, she was only weakening herself when she still had to face Buffy, she could not help herself as she stretched out a hand and a powerful force picked up her ex-lover and slammed her with brutal strength against the stone wall of a factory across the street.

 

When Willow picked herself  up off the ground this time, she turned to Tara, who was barely able to stand after the tremendous drain on her power the act had caused.  There was no more laughter in Willow’s eyes.

 

“Ok. That hurt,” she said, annoyed.  She smiled coldly. “But not as much as this will!” Holding out both hands she sent a powerful jolt into Tara’s body, and she collapsed to the ground in a fiery agony of pain.

 

As it receded and she struggled to pull herself up, failing, Willow slowly approached her. “You don’t know what you’re playing with, little girl,” she snarled, and Tara had the distinct impression that it was no longer Willow talking to her. “I’ve been gathering my power for months, and you think you can come at me and defeat me on your strength alone?” The thing in Willow’s body laughed – an ugly, twisted sound.

 

 Then she shrugged, and when she spoke again she sounded like Willow again – sort of.  “Of course,” she said. “This *is* convenient. Kind of spoiled your little plan to go in, metaphorical guns blazing, and take Buffy down with your power,” she scoffed on the last word. “Guess you wouldn’t feel up to going visiting anymore, would ya? Sorry.”

 

Tara had just managed to get to her knees when Willow started walking slowly away from her. She turned after a few steps and smirked, “On second thought – go ahead and stop by. It might be fun.”

 

And then she walked away, leaving Tara kneeling in the street.  But unwittingly, the thing had given her an idea.  She struggled the rest of the way to her feet and turned around, heading back toward her apartment.

  

“Something’s happened,” Dawn decided, pacing the living room anxiously. “We have to do something!”

 

“My God, Dawn, sit down!” Anya exclaimed. “I mean, I realize you’re really a blob of pure energy and you probably can’t help it but you’re driving me crazy!”

 

Dawn turned back to her, ignoring her comment. “We can’t wait anymore. If something’s happened to Tara, then *we* have to help Spike and stop Buffy and Willow.”

 

Anya frowned. She would prefer to stay clear of the danger, but had to admit that Dawn was right.  It had been over an hour now, and Dawn had not been able to reach Tara at al.  And every second that ticked by brought Reyem closer to invincibility, and them closer to inevitable death and defeat.

 

“We have to get the urn and get Spike out of there,” Dawn went on.

 

Anya thoughtfully replied, “I could do like Tara was going to and tell Buffy I left something upstairs…”

 

“While I’m helping Spike,” Dawn nodded.

 

“Yeah,” Anya began, then frowned. “Hey. How come I get the psycho girl with super-human strength and you get the beaten up chipped harmless vampire?”

 

Dawn glared at her in annoyance. “Um, maybe because you’re the ex-demon with a thousand years experience with violence and I’m the fifteen-year-old kid?”

 

“Dawn,” Anya said. “Buffy was very angry with him when I left, and she took him down to the basement. I think she was going to torture him. She’s had hours and hours to torture him by now, and the sight will probably be very bloody and disgusting and traumatic for…”

 

“God, Anya!” Dawn gasped in disgust and horror. “Your *mouth* is traumatic! Shut up!”

 

“Sorry.” Anya seemed genuinely apologetic. She never knew what was the right thing to say.

 

“No, we have to do it this way because she can’t know I’m there. You can go in the front door, and while you’re with Buffy I’ll go through the outside door to the basement and get him out that way,” Dawn planned.

 

Anya nodded, then frowned again. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep Buffy distracted *and* get the urn,” she wondered.

 

Dawn frowned too.  Then she smiled as an idea came to her. “I’ve got it,” she said. “This is really going to work.”

  

Fifteen minutes later, Anya let Dawn out of the car around the corner from her house, before rounding the corner and pulling into the driveway.  Dawn watched as Buffy let her in, then ran toward the basement door.  As quietly as she could she opened it and slipped silently down the side stairs.

 

She gasped at the sight of her friend, bound, half-kneeling, half-sitting on the cold cement floor, bruised and bloodied by her sister’s hands.

 

He groggily looked up at the sound, and his eyes widened in disbelief.  “D-dawnie?” he whispered. “Y-you – you shouldn’t…”  He tried to stay strong, tried to protect her, to make her turn around and leave before Buffy found her.

 

But as he spoke she was approaching him slowly, cautiously, her eyes flooded with tears, and the tenderness and compassion he saw there, after Buffy’s cruelty over the past few hours, was too much for him.  When she knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around him, he broke down, too, sobbing against her shoulder, “You shouldn’t be here, Dawnie! You need to go!”

 

“We will,” she whispered, holding him close to her. “We will. Just one thing first.”  She smiled through her tears, keeping one arm protectively around him as she took Tara’s cell phone from her pocket with her free hand.  He looked up at her questioningly, through red, swollen eyes.

 

She smiled reassuringly at him. “Just a little trick I picked up from this really smart friend I’ve got,” she whispered, squeezing him gently as she rested her cheek on his shoulder for just a moment.

 

The twinge of pain he felt at the light pressure on his injured ribs was nothing compared to the beautiful relief, the warmth of her embrace.  He leaned into her embrace like a love-starved child as she opened the phone and dialed, starting with *67.

  

*Come on, Dawnie!* Anya thought desperately as she searched the living room for her non-existent sweater.  “I was sure I left it here somewhere,” she insisted, nervously,  as Buffy watched her from the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, an impatient look on her face.

 

Just then the phone rang; Anya tried to look unconcerned as Buffy walked into the kitchen to pick it up.

 

“Hello?”

 

“B-buffy?” Dawn’s voice sounded tearful on the phone.

 

“Dawnie!” Buffy sounded stunned. In a voice full of false-but-very-convincing worry, she said, “Where are you, Sweetie? I’ve been worried sick.”

 

“Well – you – you scared me, Buffy,” Dawn replied softly. “I – I didn’t know what to do.”

 

“I’m sorry about – about what happened,”  Buffy told her in a voice too low for Anya to hear. “You have to know I just wanted to keep you safe.”

 

“I – I know,” Dawn’s voice was very small and soft.

 

“Where are you?” Buffy asked again.

 

“Down the street at Janice’s,” Dawn replied. “Can you come get me?”

 

“Of course, Sweetie. I’ll be right there,” and Buffy hung up.  Turning to Anya, she said, “That was Dawn.  She got away from where Spike was holding her and she made it to down the street at her friend’s house, but she’s pretty freaked out and needs me to come pick her up.  I’m gonna be right back. If you find it before I get back, just lock the door, would you?”

 

“Sure, Buffy,” Anya answered, thinking that Buffy’s story made no sense; if Dawn had walked all the way to her street, why would she not go on to her house?  Buffy’s stories were beginning to slip. *Or,* she wondered. *was her cover always this shoddy, and we just trusted her too much to notice?*

 

As soon as Buffy left the house, Anya ran to the basement door and unlocked it, hurrying down the stairs. She stopped, stilled by the sight of Spike and Dawn, kneeling together on the floor.  Her arms were cradling his battered body against her, comforting him as he wept.

 

“She left,” Anya said softly, unwilling to interrupt, unable to take her eyes from them.

 

“Not for long,” Dawn said grimly, with an effort pulling herself away from Spike. “Do you know where the key is?” she asked him gently, touching his face softly to focus his attention on her.

 

“I – I think she has it with her,” he whispered in a voice low and thick with tears.

 

“I figured,” Dawn nodded with a disappointed downward quirk of her lips. “We’ll have to find something to break the chains.”

 

He shook his head. “Too strong. I couldn’t break them. There’s no way *you* could, Niblet, even if you could find some tools around here, and she’s cleared everything out.”  His eyes were intense on hers.

 

“I’m gonna go find the urn,” Anya dismissed herself. “I’ll come back down when I find it.”

 

Dawn nodded, never looking away from Spike. “There has to be a way. I’m sure not leaving you here!” There were angry tears in her eyes.

 

“You may not have a choice, pet,” he said, his voice growing stronger in his determination to protect her. “She’ll be back as soon as she gets to your friend’s house and finds she’s been had.  And you won’t be helping anyone if she catches you, too.”  Suddenly he frowned. “Where’s Tara?”

 

Dawn looked away. “I d-don’t know. She was coming here, but – but she’s not…” Her voice trailed off uncomfortably.

 

Spike looked sick. “Red,” he whispered. “You’ve got to do that ritual *now*, Dawnie. If she’s fighting Willow right now…”

 

Dawn nodded. “Let me just find something to break these…”

 

“No!” His voice was harsh, louder, and she flinched. Then he said again, softer, “No, Bit. There’s no time. You and demon-girl just need to go back to the apartment and do the ritual. Once it’s done these chains won’t matter, and Tara will be safe.”

 

Dawn shook her head, her eyes tear-filled and disbelieving. She refused to accept his words. “No! I won’t leave you here!” she insisted.

 

Just then Anya appeared at the top of the stairs. “This is it,” she said, holding up a rather plain-looking tan piece of pottery. “Did you get the chains off?”

 

Dawn broke down crying, and Anya turned to Spike, frowning.

 

“Just take her and go, love,” he said to Anya.  “Buffy’s got the key and they’re too strong to break. The only way is to get that ritual done.”

 

Seeing the truth of his words, Anya nodded slowly.

 

“No!” Dawn sobbed, embracing him again, and at her touch he found himself in tears again. “I can’t, I *can’t*! If she hurts you again…”

 

“That’s why you have to stop her, Sweet Bit,” he whispered in her ear, trying to comfort her in spite of his own tears. “It’s the only way.”

 

She sobbed, clutching him tightly to her, her tears soaking his shirt. “I love you,” she choked out desperately.

 

“Shh, there now, Bit,” he whispered, tears overflowing down his face. “I love you, my pet, sweet Dawnie!” He held her with his words, as he could not with his arms.

 

Anya hated to interrupt, but knew they did not have much time. “Dawnie, we have to go,” she said quietly. “I’m gonna pull the car around.” And she hurried out the basement door.

 

Trembling, so reluctantly, Dawn pulled herself away. “I’m gonna stop her, Spike,” she whispered. “I promise. I’m gonna get you out of here!”

 

“I know you are, Niblet,” he smiled up at her bravely as she rose to her feet. “I trust you. I know you can do this, Dawn.”  The use of her actual name with no additional endearments was somehow a bestowment of that trust, of his respect – treating her as an adult, not a child.

 

Unable to tear her eyes away even as she backed, then hurried toward the stairs leading up to the backyard, Dawn held his gaze until she disappeared at the top of the stairs...and not a moment too soon, as the outer basement door slammed shut in tandem with the front one,  as Buffy returned.

 

Her footsteps above him came straight for the basement door, which in her haste Anya had left open.  He cringed at that realization, instinctively drawing back against the wall as Buffy descended the stairs.

 

She regarded him for a moment, taking in his tear-streaked face, his rumpled shirt, and then glanced back up at the open door.  She smiled.

 

“We’ve had company,” she observed.

 

“A-anya,” he nodded shakily, his voice timid, as he tried to make his mind come up with a plausible story.

 

Buffy’s smile widened. “Right,” she said softly.  Then with a violent rage not matching her tone she kicked the forgotten cell phone on the floor, inches from his knees, into the wall, where it shattered; he flinched involuntarily.  Viciously she gripped his hair and yanked him closer to her as she leaned down, snarling, “Don’t you *dare* lie to me!” She slapped him hard, then released him so that his head fell back against the wall.

 

“And I didn’t even get to see my sister,” she pouted, her voice suddenly calm again, and so much more unsettling for it.  “She could have just come upstairs instead of calling.”  Focusing her hard eyes on his, she said in a low voice of menace, “You should have told me she was here.”

 

“I – I’m sorry,” he stammered as she advanced on him, kneeling in front of him.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said as she pulled him closer to her by his shirt collar. “Willow will say hi for me.”

 

Spike’s heart dropped at that, and suddenly all he could think about was Dawn, and the danger she did not know she was in…until to his utter terror, Buffy began to unbutton his tear-soaked shirt.

 

Shaking, he whispered, “P-please, Buffy…”

 

“Shhh,” she said, and though her voice was soft, he knew better than to disobey.

 

“No you’re not sorry, Baby,” she said, ignoring his plea completely, a disappointed look on her face. “But you will be.”  She smiled as she took a tiny vial of clear liquid from her pocket, and his heart sank as he recognized it for what it was. “You will be.”


	24. Chapter 24

Tara felt her energy begin to return as she thought of Spike, helpless in Buffy’s cruel hands.  She ran the last block to her apartment, and let herself in, fumbling with the key.  She wondered briefly where Dawn and Anya were, but her attention was focused on one thing: saving Spike.

 

Frantically she dug through her kitchen drawers. Where was it?  Yanking things out and tossing them down, heedless of the mess, she continued to ransack her own kitchen until she found what she sought.  A tiny white slip of paper.

 

Clutching it in her hand she ran to the phone and dialed a number with shaking fingers.

 

A calm woman’s voice with a slight accent answered the phone.

 

“Rupert Giles, please. *Yes*, this is an emergency!”

  

Anya had expected that Dawn would be a wreck when they left. She had waited in the car for Dawn to get there, feeling anxious and uncomfortable, knowing that any comfort she might offer the girl would be inadequate.

 

She was stunned by Dawn’s demeanor when she reached the car.  Her eyes were blazing with a fury and determination that was almost awe-inspiring.  She got in the car and shut the door hard, not quite a slam, but close.

 

“Back to the apartment,” she said, and she had such an air of surety and authority about her that Anya never questioned the fact that a fifteen-year-old was telling her what to do. Dawn’s eyes flashed fire as she stared straight ahead of her. “Let’s get this thing done. This demon’s going down!”

 

They rode in silence until they had parked in front of Tara’s apartment. “I need to call Xander,” Anya said quietly. “Buffy and Willow are his best friends. If he even tries to talk to them right now he could get hurt.”  She paused, then said softly, “And he has a right to know.”

 

Dawn knew why Anya was trying to convince her.  This whole thing was going to be quite a shock to Xander; he was going to hate absolutely everything about the situation, and he was the king of denial. Getting him to accept the situation to the point of being any help would be next to impossible, *if* they could even get him to believe that both of his best friends had become evil.

 

But Dawn could see the worry in Anya’s eyes, and knew that she was right. Regardless, Xander *did* have the right to know.  She nodded, and they went upstairs.

 

The apartment was empty.  Anya headed for the phone.

  

“You never should have left me, Baby.”

 

Spike barely heard the words through the haze of pain that surrounded him, blurring his vision and beckoning him to the oblivion of unconsciousness.  The only thing that made him struggle to stay awake was the subconscious realization that he had to stay as alert as possible if he was going to survive this.

 

Buffy had been at it for an hour now.

 

“No one’s ever gonna want you like I do,” Buffy continued, smiling down at the weak, devastated form of her ex-lover with a sick perversion of affection.

 

“You never loved me,” he whispered, trying to focus on the people he knew *did* love him…on getting back to them…Dawn…Tara…

 

“Of course not, stupid,” Buffy’s voice was momentarily cold, then returned to that same soft, mockingly gentle tone as she came close to him, looking him in the eye, and said, “I said I *wanted* you. No one could ever love a thing like *you*, Spike.” She paused, as if reading the mixture of emotions in his eyes, and then added in a very soft voice, as she knelt in front of him again, “You are a worthless little nothing that shouldn’t even exist. Do you really think that someone as special as her could love you?”

 

Spike turned his head away, trying to hide the pain in his eyes caused by the words, and his deep-down feeling that maybe, maybe, they could be true.

 

She jerked his head back by the hair, forcing him to face her, as she demanded, “Where is she, then? Why are you still here?” She smirked, looking down for a moment as she said, “Well, don’t bother with that last one.  Even if she *had* come for you…you’d still be here. I’d have just killed her. So if you really love her you should be glad she was smart enough to leave you.”

 

He flinched at the cruel words. But Buffy wasn’t finished.

 

Her voice almost a whisper now, her lips so close to his that he could hear each breath she took, she went on, “And she *has* left you, Baby. She won’t come. Why do you think *Dawn* came? Because it wasn’t worth the risk to Tara.”

 

But Buffy had made a mistake. She shouldn’t have mentioned Dawn. Spike closed his eyes, focusing on Dawn, on her comforting words and embrace hours before.  He thought of when she had first come to see him at Tara’s apartment…his hand in Tara’s that night, with Dawn’s head resting in his lap…that night…Tara…

 

“She loves me,” he whispered, opening his eyes to give her a defiant look.

 

Buffy smirked as she lifted the bottle in her hand again and tilted it, spilling a thin stream of the searing liquid from his throat down his bare chest.  Pulling him close to her as he bit back a scream of agony, trembling with pain, she looked him in the eyes as she spoke again.

 

“Let’s see her prove it.”

  

“I’m just not getting this,” Xander sighed, putting his head in his hands.  He sat on Tara’s couch, Anya beside him with a supportive hand on his shoulder.  Dawn perched on the coffee table facing them.

 

“What’s not to get?” Anya shrugged. “Buffy and Willow are possessed and therefore evil and Spike is their prisoner and Tara is missing and we have to do the ritual to make them un-possessed and not evil.”

 

“But – this ritual could hurt them -- *kill* them…” Xander objected, frowning. “Can’t we do some research, find another way? If we just take a little time…”

 

“We don’t *have* time,” Dawn said, her voice hard, her eyes filled with tears. “Buffy is going to kill Spike…”

 

“I’m sorry, Dawnie,” Xander said softly, not meeting her eyes. “But Buffy and Will are a little higher on my list of priorities than the Evil Undead.”

 

Dawn stood up suddenly, glaring down at Xander with a fury that actually made him lean back away from her. She looked like she wanted to slap him. She seemed to be fighting for control for a few moments before she finally spoke, her voice low and intense. “It’s not really Buffy, Xander.  It’s this *thing*…it’s the only reason she’s even here.” She paused, as if trying to keep quiet, then spat out, “You should never have brought her back! If the only way that you could bring her back was by putting that thing in her, you should have left her where she was…in *heaven*.”

 

“Dawnie…” Xander’s face was pale, his face anxious and guilty. “we didn’t know…we thought…”

 

“Willow did.” Dawn’s voice was bitter and full of anger.  There was a moment of silence before she went on, “Willow knew *exactly* what she was doing and she did it anyway.”

 

Before Dawn could say anything else, Anya touched Xander’s arm to get his attention and said, “This ritual won’t kill Willow…it may hurt her in some ways…but if we don’t do the ritual…this thing will just keep destroying and destroying, person by person…”

 

“An apocalypse, a little at a time,” Dawn almost whispered, calmer now, not looking at either of them.

 

“And Xander,” Anya said sadly, “she’s right. It’s *not* really Buffy in there. We shouldn’t have done the resurrection spell.  We made a really. Big. Mistake.”

 

Silence reigned in the room for a few moments.

 

Dawn gestured toward her bruised face, which had not yet been explained to Xander. “You see this, Xander?” she demanded angrily. “*Buffy* did this! Buffy! Only not Buffy, because my *sister* wouldn’t do this to me! It’s that thing that’s controlling her body.”

 

Xander’s eyes were wide with shock.  He couldn’t say a word; he couldn’t imagine Buffy doing anything to hurt Dawn.

 

Dawn went on, “When she was freaking out and hit me, and wouldn’t let me leave and I was *so scared*,” she was sobbing by now. “…and I thought I was never gonna get out of there, you know who came and rescued me? Even though Buffy was looking for him and wanted to kill him? Spike, Xander. Spike came to save me when Buffy was going to kill me.  And I will die before I will let her kill him.”

 

There was no arguing with the absolute certainty in her voice.

 

Xander let out a heavy sigh. “Well…if this is what we have to do,” he said softly. “Let’s get this thing done.”

 

Dawn nodded slowly, with deliberate certainty as she stood up and moved to stand in the center of the circle they had made earlier in the center of the living room floor, from the powdered herbs Tara had specified that she should use.  Anya and Xander rose to follow her.

 

At that moment, the door to the apartment flew open with a loud explosion of power, and the three of them looked up to see Willow standing in the doorway, an unearthly wind blowing her jet-black hair around her face, her eyes fathomless black pools as she smiled at them.

 

It was not a pleasant smile.

 

She took in the scene before her and her smile turned to a mocking frown. “Aw, guys,” she pouted. “I thought you were my friends.”

 

Xander’s eyes were wide with shock at the sight of his friend in a condition he had never seen before. Cautiously he stepped toward her. “Willow…”

 

“Xander!” Anya caught his arm and pulled him back. “Don’t!”

 

Xander stopped where he was, but held out a supplicating hand toward his friend, “Will,” he said softly. “we *are* your friends.  We want to help you.”

 

She laughed, a hard, cruel, sickening sound. “Sorry, guys,” she smiled. “I can’t let you do that.” And she released a powerful blast of power from her outstretched arms that seemed to rock the room. “I’m not finished yet.”


	25. Chapter 25

Dawn struggled to keep her footing as the very room seemed to shake around her, with the force of the power Willow had just unleashed upon them.  When she looked up, slightly dazed, she saw that the jolt had been aimed at Xander, who was slowly pulling himself up from the floor across the room, where he had slammed against the wall.

Anya let out a soft, strangled sort of cry as she hurried to help him – and Willow turned toward Dawn. Smiling.

 

“You shouldn’t be taking up magic, Dawnie,” she said, frowning in mock concern, shaking her head disapprovingly. “It’s very dangerous.”

 

“Willow,” she said, in a strong but shaking voice, hoping that some small part of the being facing her was in fact still Willow, and could hear her. “Don’t do this!”

 

“But you don’t even know what I’m going to do yet!” Willow laughed, then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as she drew closer to Dawn and added, “It’s gonna be a surprise.”

 

“Willow!” Xander’s voice was loud and harsh in the silence that followed her words.  He had managed to make it to his feet, and was starting slowly toward her, one hand reached out toward his friend. “Willow…what is this? Please, just talk to me!” he said, his voice imploring, and Dawn knew that he still had not realized that this was no longer his best friend, the sweet girl that he had grown up with.

 

Willow smirked at him coldly. “Nothing left to talk about, Xander. I’m through talking. Time for action.”  She held out a hand toward Dawn, and her breath caught in her throat.

 

“Wait!” Xander took a couple more steps toward her, his voice rising with fear. “Don’t, Willow! Don’t hurt her! You know you don’t want to do this.”  He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself.

 

He certainly wasn’t convincing Willow.

 

“Why does everyone think they know what I want better than I do tonight?” Willow’s laugh was mocking as she held up her hands in an exaggerated gesture of defeat. She smiled nastily at Dawn as she said, “Tara thought so. I showed her different though.”

 

Dawn felt a terrible fear coursing through her at Willow’s words. “What did you do to Tara?” she demanded, her anger causing her to advance a few steps on the witch, in spite of the fact that she was all but powerless against her. “Where is she?”

 

Willow’s smile was triumphant as she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Not too much, and I don’t know. And also don’t care.”  She paused for effect before adding, “Last time I saw her she was lying bleeding in the street. And this is the Hellmouth. So who knows?”

 

Xander was still stepping slowly toward Willow, glancing between her and Dawn. Dawn felt a mingled gratitude and terror, realizing that he was trying to distract Willow’s attention from her, knowing that he could pay for it with his life.  “Willow,” he said again, trying a slightly different tack. “Why are you doing this?”

 

She smiled at him, a sort of surprised, disbelieving smile, as if the answer were so obvious. “Because I can,” she answered softly.  Suddenly her smile disappeared, and Dawn’s heart dropped. “And I really don’t think you want to get in my way, Xander.”

 

He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath as he looked at his friend, his eyes full of mingled fear and love. “I can’t let you hurt Dawnie,” he whispered, shaking his head sadly and stepping between Willow and the girl, and Dawn realized for the first time with a chill that she *was* indeed the main focus of Willow’s attack. After all, she was the one who was about to perform the ritual.

 

Willow laughed softly at the young man standing between her and her chosen victim. “No, Xander, you can’t ‘let’ me hurt Dawnie,” she said mockingly.  Her eyes cold and deadly she gave him a murderous smile and added, “But you can’t *stop* me either.”  Without warning she released a jolt of magic that slammed into him, driving him to his knees with a moan of pain.

 

“Willow…don’t…” he gasped, slowly struggling to get back to his feet, falling back to his knees when the effort proved too great. “Don’t do this. We love you, Willow…”

 

She laughed. “You ‘love’ me!” she practically spat the word out. “You think that’ll stop me?”

 

Breathing hard through his pain, Xander looked her in the eye. “Don’t really know. But I’ve gotta say it. Because I do, Willow. I love you. And I’m not gonna just stand here and watch you destroy yourself and everything you care about. I love you too much.”

 

Willow’s expression became patronizingly sad. “Awww,” she replied. “That’s so sweet! Might have even worked.” Her eyes became hard as she finished, “If Willow was still calling the shots!”

 

Dawn’s mind raced with a thousand panicked thoughts as Willow drew back her hand to strike at Xander again. She saw in her eyes that she was bored with her little game, she was going to kill him, and Xander had not even gotten back to his feet yet, and oh God, the look in his eyes! Because he knew it, too.  And Anya was rushing toward him, and Dawn knew that she couldn’t help him, but she was going to reach him before Willow struck and they’d both be killed.  And then there would be no one between Willow and the only one who could stop her now, and they had failed, they had waited too long, the world was doomed, and Spike…oh, God, *Spike*!

 

Willow released her power, directing it with savage intensity at her best friend, meaning to take his life, and all Dawn’s thoughts converged into one deadly certainty.

 

*It’s over. It’s all over.*

 

Suddenly, a flash of brilliant white light blinded her as the room seemed to shake once more.  Somehow, Willow’s magical killing blow had been turned back toward her, and she went flying back against the wall with tremendous force.  When Dawn looked back to see what had saved them, her eyes met the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

 

Tara.

 

But not Tara as she had known her for the past three years. Something incredible had happened to her.  She seemed to be glowing from the inside, surrounded by a shimmering iridescent light that radiated pure, unadulterated magical power.  Her eyes were blazing with fury as she looked at Willow, struggling to her feet across the room.

 

Willow’s eyes were ablaze as well – with utter hatred – as she stood to face her attacker.  With an animal cry of rage she loosed a violent surge of her power toward Tara.

 

Tara deflected it with her hand, from where she stood, now between Willow and the others.

 

“You are going to stop now, Willow,” Tara said softly. Her eyes widened as she gazed into Willow’s eyes, then narrowed as she corrected in a voice softer but much more dangerous, “Reyem.”

 

Again the thing that looked like Willow but no longer was flung a magical bolt of lightning at Tara. Again she merely brushed it aside like an annoying insect.  And then Tara was through talking.  With an extended hand and no visible effort, she froze Willow where she stood.  The dark witch was unable to move an inch of her own accord as she was lifted bodily off the ground.  Then with a second wave of Tara’s hand, she disappeared completely.

 

Stunned silence filled the room for a few moments.  Then Dawn rushed Tara, flinging herself into her arms, as Xander slowly, painfully rose to his feet and approached them, half-supported by Anya at his side.

 

“T-tara!” Dawn sobbed, her relief overwhelming her now that the threat seemed to have passed.  “I thought you were dead! Willow said…where were you? How?” She paused, frowning, and looked up at her friend. “Where *is* Willow?” she asked.

 

Tara smiled as she answered matter-of-factly with a shrug, “In the bedroom.  That stasis spell will hold her as long as you need to complete the ritual. She won’t be able to move or speak until I take it down.”

 

“Good,” Anya nodded in a satisfied way. “Her evil ranting was annoying.”

 

“How – how did you…” Dawn stumbled over her words, unsure what to ask first. “I mean – I never knew you were that much stronger than her.”

 

“I’m not,” Tara admitted. “This is borrowed power. But it’s far greater than any power Reyem has, that’s for sure!” She paused before pushing Dawn gently away from her by the shoulders to look her in the eyes. “I’ll explain everything later. There’s no time now. We have to get the ritual done.”

 

Dawn’s eyes flooded with fresh tears as she remembered. “Tara,” she gasped. “Spike! Buffy’s got him, and – and we couldn’t get him out, and she’d already hurt him, and – and…” The girl broke down again.

 

Tara held her for just a moment, then said in a voice that was both soft and firm, “I know, Dawnie. I’m gonna go take care of Buffy and bring Spike home.  You just focus on the ritual. We have to get rid of this thing once and for all.”

 

She looked up at Xander; he was staring at the bedroom door.

 

“Don’t go in there,” she warned gently. “She can’t move or speak but she can still try to use mind-control on you. Don’t give her the chance.”

 

Xander’s wide, startled brown eyes stared back at her.

 

Her voice became even gentler, understanding to what he had just been through, as she said, “Once Reyem is gone, we’ll be able to find a way to help her. Until then, remember, Xander – that’s *not* Willow.”

 

Xander looked slowly back at the door, still trying to process everything that had happened.  Then he nodded slowly. “She said so herself,” he whispered, remembering.

 

“I won’t be long,” Tara said, giving Dawn one last encouraging smile, before she simply disappeared before their eyes.

  

Halfway around the world in London, Rupert Giles hung up the telephone, disconnecting his completed call to British Airways.  His passage back to the States on the next available flight – which unfortunately was not for two days – was booked and all his arrangements were made.  The small group of people he thought of as his kids,  though they were neither his nor kids, were going to need him in the wake of what he knew was happening across the globe in Sunnydale.

 

He thought anxiously of Tara, and wondered how she was faring.  The timing had really been impeccable.  He had just been speaking with one of the Council’s seers, who had seen a vision of a terrible evil rising in Sunnydale.  He had been making preparations to go back himself to try and handle the situation when he had received Tara’s call.  While he was on the phone with her, the seer had received another vision indicating that Tara was the only one who could stop Sunnydale’s rising evil power. So the coven in London had then teleported her there to be temporarily endowed with their power, and then had returned her in the same manner, to exact spot she had left from – the center of her living room.

 

Giles had wanted to go with her, but the energy it would have taken to teleport them both would have weakened her powers considerably, and she needed all the power she could get to face Reyem.  Once again, Giles found himself regretting his past ways.  The seer had told him that it was because of them that he could not be the one to go.

 

“There are remnants of dark power still within you,” she had said. “Tara’s magic is pure, and has never been tainted by evil.  She will have a better chance of defeating Reyem.  If you were to try, Reyem could try to take hold of the darkness in you and turn it against you and those you love.”

 

So he waited for word, and for his flight back to Sunnydale, and hoped against hope that Tara would not be too late to stop Reyem.

 

“Of all people,” he said softly to himself, gazing out the window of his study. “to think that the fate of the world rests not with the Slayer this time, but in Tara’s gentle hands!”


	26. Chapter 26

He didn’t know how much longer he could take the vicious torture he was being subjected to.  From the moment he had declared to her that Tara loved him, Buffy had become more and more possessive and enraged.  It was as if the power-mad beast inside her saw the strength he drew from Tara’s love and sought to tear it away from him.

 

She had him shoved up against the wall, his chained wrists under him digging painfully into his back, as she knelt so close that she was practically straddling him.  He tried to block out the terror and pain she was causing him, tried to focus on Tara, turning his head away, closing his eyes, whispering her name.

 

At the sound Buffy slapped him across the face, hard, deliberately clawing him with her fingernails as she did. “She can’t help you!” she sneered.  "She *won’t* help you. You can try as hard as you like to make yourself believe that she’s coming for you, that she still wants you.  But the truth is, Baby…you’re not worth it.  Look around you, Baby.” Furious when he refused to obey her, keeping his eyes downcast, closed against her assault, she tangled her hand in his disheveled blonde curls, jerking his head up as she snarled, “Look around! Look where you are! You are *mine*! No one is coming for you! You’re mine and you always will be!”

 

He shook his head in defiance of her words, too battered and beaten down to do anything more, but then moaned in pain as she vindictively raked her sharp fingernails across the searing holy water burns on his chest.  “Aren’t you?” she whispered, close to his ear, demanding an answer with her brutal fingers, digging into his burned flesh.

 

Shaking with agony, he bit his lip to keep from crying out. He was determined not to give her the satisfaction.  When he finally was able to speak without screaming, he whispered through gritted teeth, “Never. Not anymore.”

 

The words were punished by her vicious nails again, across the tender, scarred skin of his stomach.  She laughed coldly. “Sure *looks* like you’re mine,” she whispered, holding the back of his head with one hand as she leaned in close to whisper in his ear again, the other hand still brutalizing his injured body. “Feels like you’re mine,” she went on with a smile of cruel triumph, as she edged her hand lower, laughing when he shuddered at her touch.

 

With the shift in her manner to that sadistically suggestive tone and touch, his demeanor instantly changed, as he let out a silent sob, then whispered, “God, no, Buffy! Please! Please don’t!”

 

She had known exactly the sort of threat that would finally break him, and now she used it with ruthless pleasure.  Still edging her hand lower, she said softly in his ear, “Whose are you, Baby? Hers? Or mine?”

 

He was trembling uncontrollably, overwhelmed with the terror of the impossible choice she was giving him.  She was going to continue what she was doing, until he said what she wanted him to -- so he was to be unfaithful to Tara with his words, or suffer the brutal consequences in his body.  He shook his head,  silently pleading with her not to make him do this.  Although it would not be his choice, it would still feel like such a betrayal of Tara’s love.

 

“Hers or mine?” Buffy pressed, her expression hardening, as did her touch, low on his stomach, warning of the brutal attack she would unleash upon him if he did not answer her question, and in the way she wanted.

 

“I’ll answer that,” a quiet, hard voice spoke from the bottom of the stairs,  and they both looked up in shock. “Get away from my boyfriend.”

 

Spike thought he must be dreaming, or dying, because it was not possible that she was here in this place of his nightmares – his hope, his savior, his love.

 

Then Buffy laughed softly – and terror filled him again.

 

“Tara, get out!” he cried out desperately.  Buffy was impossibly strong by now; she could kill Tara without even trying. “Go, now!”

 

“Shut up,” Buffy snarled, turning on him to deliver a brutal blow across his face with the back of her fist.

 

And before she could even lower her hand, or even glance at the girl across the room from her, she had been lifted into the air by an invisible force and slammed furiously against the wall on the other side of the room.  She slid down the wall and crumpled to the floor, moaning with pain, as Tara made her way calmly to Spike’s side, tossing over her shoulder, “I *said* get. Away. From. My. Boyfriend.”

 

Dazed and in pain from the savage blow he had just taken, Spike did not even see her approach.  But when he felt her cool hand touch his face tenderly, and heard her soft voice murmur, “My baby, my darling,” as she knelt beside him, he looked up into her lovely face with tears of relief and joy streaming down his own.

 

“Tara,” he whispered brokenly, a wealth of expression in the single word.

 

She gently pulled him into her arms, careful of his injuries, for just a moment – for that was all they had, for now.  Across the room, Buffy was struggling to get up, obviously hurt by the blow she had taken, but infuriated by it as well.  Tara touched the chains that bound him with a gentle hand, and they simply fell away, loosing him to return her embrace.

 

“Soon, my darling,” she promised softly as she pulled away from his desperately clutching hands.  Standing slowly, she faced Buffy, who was on her feet again, murder in her feral green eyes. “Buffy and I still need to get a few things straight.”

 

Spike stood up, but nearly collapsed again, too weak from the torture to fully support his own weight, as Buffy suddenly rushed Tara, blind fury evident in her every move.  Tara easily repelled her with a flick of her wrist that sent her crashing to the floor again, twenty feet away.

 

As Buffy fought to get back up, Tara slowly advanced on her, a dark anger clear in her pretty features.  “It doesn’t feel very good, does it?” she asked Buffy, her tone severe. “Being completely overpowered. Knowing you’re helpless.”

 

“I’m not helpless!” Buffy snarled, leaping suddenly to her feet, enraged.

 

“Really,” Tara said, and threw her arm out toward the Slayer again.

 

But Buffy was learning how to adapt to Tara’s moves, as she always did to those of whatever enemy she fought, and rolled out of the way just in time to avoid the surge of power that flowed from Tara’s fingers.  The motion brought her nearer to the wall where Spike leaned, just trying to stay out of Tara’s way, and instinctively he took a sideways step away from her, alarm in his eyes.

 

Buffy noticed and laughed out loud, derisively. “Your boyfriend would know more about that, Tara,” she sneered, nodding toward Spike.

 

“Oh, very smart, Buffy!” Tara nodded sarcastically, turning to face her again. “Remind the mightily pissed off witch with incredible magical power of the terrible things you've done to the man she loves; make her want you just a little *more* dead.”  And with those words she took aim at Buffy again, this time hitting her target, and knocking Buffy to her knees.

 

Her breath coming hard and ragged, Buffy dragged herself up yet again.  She was exhausted and battered and had not landed a single blow against her very angry opponent yet.  She was starting to look a little desperate, glancing around for a chance at escape, as victory for her began to seem increasingly impossible.

 

She was moving slowly by now, and the next jolt from Tara’s hand hit her square in the chest and knocked her backward against the wall – mere inches from Spike.  Scrambling to her feet, panic now showing in her eyes, Buffy suddenly took a stake from her pocket.  Seeing the danger, Spike tried to move away from her, but he was too badly injured to move quickly enough.  She caught him by the arm and yanked him in front of her, holding the stake to his chest.  His heart sank, and he cursed his weakness that could cost Tara the battle.

 

“Back off!” Buffy snarled at Tara, but there was as much fear as menace in her voice.

 

Tara stopped smiling. “Buffy,” she said in a quiet, deadly voice, “Let him go.”

 

The tip of the stake pressed hard against his ravaged chest, and he let out a gasp of pain, as Buffy shot back, “I don’t think so!”

 

He tried to pull away from her, but even injured, Buffy was too strong for him.  He could see the look in Tara’s eyes, knew that she was gearing up to strike again, and this time was not going to be merely to *stop* Buffy – Tara meant to end it.

 

Buffy jerked him closer against her, a thin trickle of blood running down his chest where the stake punctured his skin.  “I mean it, Tara,” she said coldly. “Back off or I’ll kill him.”

 

“You won’t last two seconds if you do,” Tara retorted, and Spike knew she meant it. Wasn’t terribly comforting, though; he would still be dust. “Buffy, for the last time, let him go.”

 

Buffy’s grip only tightened and he cringed at the increased pressure on the stake in her hand.  Tara’s hand came up, and Spike flinched.  He trusted Tara, but at this range and with him serving as Buffy’s inhuman shield, Buffy could easily dodge the blow.

 

*Tara, Tara, please be careful!* he thought.

 

He had not expected a response, and was stunned to hear her affectionate voice in his head, *Always.*

 

He looked up at her wide-eyed, at the exact moment that she released her magic blow.  She was smiling.

 

And the next moment, Buffy jerked him into the path of the jolt, and the impact of the blow hit him full in the chest. *That’s it,* he thought. *Death by bloody friendly fire. Magical staking. I’m done.*

 

But then he realized that there was no pain, no dust.  Instead he felt an incredible surge of power flowing through his veins.  He felt strong; the pain from his countless injuries seemed to fade away.  He felt powerful, alert, and alive!  He looked at Tara with dawning understanding as he realized what she had done.

 

Tara met his eyes with an approving, satisfied smile. *Your turn, Baby.*

 

That was all the encouragement he needed.  Buffy was still laughing at his taking the hit in her place when he effortlessly broke her grip on his arm, at the same time snatching the stake from her hand and crushing it to splinters in his own suddenly astonishingly strong grip.

 

She stared at him for a moment in shock, not quite registering yet what had happened, and aimed another fist at his face.  He easily caught her wrist with one hand while plunging his own fist into her face, releasing her wrist at just the right moment to send her flying backward into her hanging punching bag.  Eyes wide with disbelief, she clumsily stumbled back to her feet.

 

“I said,” he reminded her, his voice soft and dangerous as he approached her, “Don’t. Touch. Me!” And he delivered another powerful blow that knocked her back down to her knees, stunned by the impact.

 

Caught off guard by this unexpected display of power from the one she had victimized so brutally for months, Buffy looked more than a little scared as she scrambled back away from him. “Spike – wait!” she gasped. “Wait a second, Baby…”

 

“And *stop* bloody *calling* me that!” he yelled at her in a release of rage and frustration.  “I’m *not* your baby! I’m not your bloody anything! Just stop it, Buffy!”

 

“Ok…ok, Spike,” Buffy nodded hurriedly, getting to her feet, her hands outstretched placatingly. “Just – calm down.  We can talk about this.”

 

“There is *nothing* to talk about,” he hissed in a voice of barely restrained fury, still advancing on her. “I’m through bloody *talking*, Buffy. Every word you’ve ever said to me has torn me down, a little at a time. You’ve *destroyed* me!”  All the pain, the helplessness, the terror of the past few months seemed to wash over him as he stared down at his fallen abuser.

 

*Not destroyed,* Tara’s soothing voice echoed in his mind. *You’re not destroyed. In all that time she never managed that, and now she never will.*  He could sense her trying to calm him, knew that if he let his emotions get control of him, he could lose his advantage, but couldn’t seem to stop the agony of pain that swept over him.

 

“No one should ever have to go through what you’ve put me through, Buffy,” he said softly, his voice thick with unshed tears.

 

“I’m sorry,” Buffy whispered. “I’m so sorry!”  But he was no fool, and he could see the lie in her eyes.  All she wanted was for him to let his guard down so that she could escape.

 

“No you’re not, love,” he said softly, most of his anger passing, giving way to the intensity of pain he could no longer hold back. He turned away from her, unable to bear the shame of her seeing just how badly she had damaged him.

 

Tara had averted her eyes during this whole exchange, in an effort to give them something resembling privacy.  Now, when she heard his voice turn toward her, she looked up – just in time to see Buffy taking a second stake from her jeans pocket as she stood to her feet behind Spike, a look of bitter rage in her eyes.

 

“Get down!” Tara called out.

 

The urgency in her voice was clear, and Spike instantly dropped to the floor as the powerful surge of energy Tara sent out passed over his head and slammed into Buffy, throwing her back down to the floor on her face.

 

She did not move.

 

Spike stared at her prone form behind him, the stake that had rolled from her hand, and then back into Tara’s eyes.  They were shining with love as she held out gentle arms to embrace him.  He had almost reached her when he physically felt the loss of the power that had been strengthening him, and sank to the ground, suddenly unable to move another step, as the agony Buffy had inflicted reclaimed his body.  Tara was also looking down at herself with a strange expression; she had felt something too.

 

“They did it,” she realized as she went to kneel on the floor and take her battered lover in her arms. “They completed the ritual. The seer said that once Reyem was defeated the power would revert to its natural place.”

 

“Whatever you say, love,” he whispered in a voice of sheer exhaustion as he fell into her embrace, leaning against her heavily as she held him close to her, his head on her shoulder.  “You’ll have to tell me how you did it…later.”

 

“I didn’t do it, Baby,” she whispered, gently stroking his hair back to kiss his forehead tenderly. “It was Dawnie.”

 

He smiled wearily at the thought. “Niblet saved the world.”

 

Tara nodded, kissing him again, running her hands gently over his arms, his back.  She couldn’t take her eyes or her hands off him.

 

“I thought I’d lost you, my love,” she softly said, pulling his face up so that she could look into his eyes.  But what she saw there made her frown slightly.  He tried to look away, suddenly self-conscious, but she held him, gently but firmly, not allowing it.

 

“Spike,” she began slowly, deliberately, holding his gaze. “You are my life…my love.  I wouldn’t want to *live* without you. You knew I was coming for you…didn’t you?”

 

He looked into her eyes, his own large and filled with a raw vulnerability that was almost painful to look at.  He nodded hesitantly, then shook his head apologetically, trying to be honest with her.  Then his face crumpled as he laid his head on her shoulder and cried.

 

She held him tight as he let the horrors he had been through that night pour out with his tears, running her fingers through his hair, and whispered, “I love you more than anything, my darling. I would never leave you. I love you!”  She kept talking to him as he wept, soothing him as she had that first night in her apartment, when his nightmares had plagued him. She knew that after his ordeal, the nightmares were probably not gone for good yet.

 

But today, his nightmares had come to life.

 

And he had bravely faced them down.

 

“It’s over, Baby,” she assured him as he wept in her arms. “It’s over.”


	27. Chapter 27

When Spike’s desperate sobs finally began to subside, Tara pushed him gently away from her, to inspect his injuries.  She was horrified by the condition he was in.  His exposed chest and stomach were a mass of severe burns caused by the holy water, and bleeding in places where the burns had been aggravated by Buffy’s nails.  He was bruised and battered and barely able to stand on his own.

 

“We need to get you taken care of,” she told him gently, bestowing a gentle caress on his tear-soaked cheek as she looked into his eyes. “I teleported here; there’s no way you can walk the whole way home.”  She paused. “I need to call Xander.”

 

Quite dazed and a bit disoriented after the evening’s chaotic events, Spike said softly (and a bit randomly), “Buffy broke your phone.”

 

“What?”

 

He gestured toward the shattered bits of plastic and metal near where he had been chained.  Seeing his meaning, Tara’s eyes softened and filled with tears again at the thought of what he had gone through in this room. “We need to go upstairs,” she said softly. This would be a place of painful memories for them both for a long time.

 

Spike’s wide eyes came to rest on Buffy. “Is – is she…?” his voice trailed off.

 

Gently untangling herself from his clinging arms, Tara stood up, holding out a hand in a gesture for him to stay there.  They had defeated Reyem; Buffy was no longer a danger to either of them, but she still felt a defensive urge to protect him.  She went to Buffy and felt her throat for a pulse.  Buffy still did not move, but her pulse was strong and steady.

 

“She’s alive,” Tara said with relief. “Just…knocked out.” She smiled sheepishly. Just like an evil demon, she thought. Reyem had used Buffy to do his damage, and then left her to suffer the consequences – in the form of angry-witch-inflicted bruises and other injuries.

 

In spite of the fact that they both knew the danger had passed, leaving Spike here in the basement with Buffy, unconscious or not, was simply not an option.  Carefully Tara helped him to his feet, and they made their slow, painful way up the stairs to the kitchen.

  

Two hours later, the uncharacteristically subdued Scoobie gang was gathered in Buffy’s living room.  Xander sat in the recliner, his head leaned wearily against the back of it. Anya sat on the arm of the chair, making a comforting fuss over his injuries.  Tara had long since tended to Spike’s injuries, treated and bandaged his many burns and cuts; and now she sat at one end of the couch, his head in her lap as he slept. Dawn leaned against the foot of the sofa in front of them, her little hand tightly clasping Spike’s, as if she was afraid he was going somewhere. 

 

Willow sat at the foot of the stairs, her head in her hands. She had not passed out when the ritual was completed – of course, she had not been magically punched by an uber-witch, either – but she had been terribly confused at first, unsure as to everything, even her own identity and that of those around her.  That passed after a few minutes, and she remembered who she was, but not what had happened.  The last several months were a blur to her, and she was unable to make sense of what the others were telling her.

 

Then, in an instant, her memories came flooding back.  All the things she had done to her friends, to Tara, over the past few months.  *Oh, God!* She wanted to sob, but it seemed selfish to her.  She had hurt them all so badly.  And they tried to reassure her, told her it wasn’t her fault, it was that thing that had been inside her.  But the truth that none of them dared to speak, that she could not deny, was that she had *willingly* taken that thing inside her.

 

And through her, it had tried to kill Dawn, injured Xander, and Tara…oh God, Tara! She remembered clearly her violations of her former lover’s mind, repeated offenses even after Tara had pleaded with her not to do it. She had hurt so many people, caused so much damage.  And that was not even considering Buffy.

 

She still had not awakened.

 

They had somehow managed to get her up the stairs to her bedroom and lay her down.  Her breathing and pulse were still strong and steady; she almost seemed to be asleep.  They assured themselves that she would be all right, she would wake up soon.

 

*Someone should be with her,* Tara thought. But the problem was, who?  Obviously not Spike, even if he had been awake. The knowledge that his abuser had not really been Buffy did not really take away the massive trauma still associated with the currently still form in the bed upstairs. The same went for Dawn. Though she had claimed she just wanted to stay with Spike, Tara knew that Dawn did not want to be alone with her sister.  Xander was injured himself, and Anya refused to leave him.  And Willow seemed to be in a sort of trance – traumatized herself by the realization of the destruction she had caused. And Tara could not do it herself, either. Spike needed her, desperately, and she refused to leave his side for any reason until she was sure that he felt safe.

 

So Buffy slept on, alone in her bed, with no one to tend her.  Occasionally, upon someone’s request, Anya dutifully went up to check on her, coming back to report the lack of any change.  But the truth was, none of them wanted to stay with her.  Tara actually began to feel a bit of sympathy for Buffy, wondering what things would be like for her when she awoke, when she remembered the cruel, terrible things she had done.  Would she be able to remember *everything* she had done?

 

Would they ever be able to forget?

 

Anya went upstairs to use the bathroom and to check on Buffy again, just as the phone rang.  Reluctantly, Dawn got up to answer it.  But when she heard the warm, safe, familiar voice on the other end of the line, she nearly jumped up and down with excitement.  And then she burst into tears.

 

After a brief tearful conversation, in which the caller assured her that everything would be all right, and she was safe now, and he would be there soon, Dawn hung up the phone, returning immediately to her place by Tara and Spike.

 

“That was Giles,” she informed them. “He’s coming in at 3:00 on Monday.”

 

There were mixed sounds and words of relief at her statement.  Sometimes they all felt like they were still children, and the thought of a “grown-up” to come and help handle the enormous, unbearable aftermath of this situation was extremely comforting.

 

Suddenly, Anya came tearing back down the stairs, her eyes wide with shock and panic.

 

“She’s gone!” she gasped as she reached the living room. “Buffy is gone!”

 

 Fini~


End file.
